Karl was amazed by how immediate and seemingly uncaused it came. Like morning wood Karl suddenly was overwhelmed by the desire for 'the game'. It was completely irrational, he hadn't played for a while and he'd been fine. Actually, embarrassingly enough, he'd thought partway through Pennsylvannia, it would be awkward if his guildies had it up and running and he didn't even want to play it. It urged him to play, reminded him of the problems of real life he would shortly encounter. There were parents to be talked to, apologies to be made, savings accounts to run out, eventually the problems Karl had run from would come crushing down and without the game, he'd have no shelter. Ironically Karl turned up the Rage song "No Shelter" which was playing as he drove towards the goal.
The self-talk began: 'Don't worry about it man, you'll get there and they'll have it all set up and everything will be back to normal. The guild is waiting for you, just get to Fredericksburg and we'll be fine.' Karl thought to himself. A quotation from a more popular Karl was floating around in his head: "The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win." Ever the philosopher, Karl began to think it over, Marx had been wrong in a classically modern sense, which left the postmoderns of today feeling distant. It was the problem Karl himself was now facing. 'what if I don't want the world? what if - to cite James Bond - the world is not enough? what if a man finally freed of his chains finds the chains more comfortable than the scary world around him?'. Karl didn't want the 'real world' - like great philosophers before him, he was seeking a world beyond this one. For Plato it was the real of the Forms, for Karl, it was 'the game'. It seemed more real to him as he began to shake with craving for the game, more real than his 3 wolf t-shirt or the interstate flying by, or the Rage music now blaring.
Slowing down and pulling off the highway for some coffee would be the safest thing to do. As he arrived in a random Virginia starbucks he was overwhelmed with how this place too felt like a gateway to escape. Marx would've decried it as the height of Capitalist decadence, and Karl had to agree, that there was something about this place. The ultra-clean environment, the soft jazz, the businessmen and metrosexuals, and the blonde baristas all gave the place the look of a refuge. If Hitler dreamt of a coffee shop this would've been it. Again Karl's thoughts had interrupted the task at hand. Finally, remembering what he was to do, he called the number his GM (guildmaster) put on their forum. As the other line began to ring, Karl realized he only knew the character name his friend used, which was always the same, but was worried it would sound weird to use IRL.
"Hello" said the familiar voice of Karl's Tank 'Xzynog' (pronounced Zee-nog) sounded.
"Hi.. it's Kast, I'm looking for Zee... ?"
To his relief the awkwardness ended and immediately the conversation began rolling. Karl received final directions from Z which he pretended to understand -he'd just follow mapquest- and then finished his Carmel Macchiato.
The only thing Karl was worried about was the smell. He hadn't showered in days and it was noticable, luckily driving cross-country to see friends from an MMORPG is one of the few occasions where stinking is normal.
Within three hours, Karl had arrived. It did not look anything like he'd imagined. Though in fairness, Karl had imagined an antebellum plantation complete with porches on both stories and for some reason a confederate flag. In reality, it was a small house just outside town, and past a few fruit stands/markets that looked operated and lived in by Mexicans. The old white paint was peeling off the wooden siding, and there was a step missing from the front door that made it kind of a leap. As well an angry looking dalmation was tied to the dilapitaded barn-like structure near the back, and it barked as if it would eat Karl at first glance. Aside from that and some flies, it looked a bit deserted. While he began philosophizing on the situation Karl decided he had to disagree with the great Scottish poet who wrote "Suspense is worse than disappointment.". Evidently, Robert Burns had never seen this place before.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Story (4) Morning Bath & Diet Root Beer
Bath. The picture that word gave to Karl was a Roman city in England followed by that movie with Jack Nicholson and Kathy Bates. After the picture of the word Kathy Bates arrived in Karl's minds' eye, he promptly returned to looking around at this small town in New York state. He'd never even heard of it yesterday and today here he was. 'Lewis and Clarke would be ashamed of me' Karl thought.
Sleeping in the truck had worked out fine. Karl took pride in his truck, a 95 GM pickup he'd bought off a guy who just retired from the warehouse. It had character and Karl like it because it was so unlike everything he stood for. He was not a working man, did not move large tools or steel, and yet every time he saw it and realized it was his, he felt a small swelling in his chest and had a remade self-image. It was what Karl could potentially be, not what he was. Everyone else just thought it an ugly waste of gas and money.
After trying his idealistic plan of going wherever the wind may take him, Karl realized that there are alot of dead end streets, and that drivin in circles takes alot more time than he was prepared to spend on such an endeavour. Thus with a heavy heart, he yielded to mapquest at 8:33 AM on the first morning of the journey. (http://www.mapquest.com/maps?1c=Bath&1s=NY&1y=US&1l=42.336899&1g=-77.3181&1v=CITY&2c=Fredericksburg&2s=VA&2y=US&2l=38.303101&2g=-77.4608&2v=CITY)
6 and a half hours. The first emotion Karl felt was anger. It seemed like such a short journey. Any normal person could make the distance in one day. 'bet Dad could make it there and back to Scarborough if some diplomat was trapped there' Karl pondered angrily. This was his quest, it was supposed to be epic, and now looking that all he had to do was head south for a while, it seemed to make it appear trite. Originally he was worried his family and acquaintances would be overwhelmed with fear at his bold escape, now he worried they'd not worry at all.
In any case, Karl got onto another highway and headed south. As he merged into the left lane still deep in thought the overweight orphaned philosophe laughed to himelf. Knowing how easy he could get lost, it would probably take Karl a week to arrive anyway. Turning on the CD player and singing along to his embarrassing mix of 'guilty pleasures' (Avril Lavigne, Blink 182, and Weird Al) Karl faded away into the world of music and remembered a line from an equally embarrassing book: "a music...a magic beyond all" (Dumbledore in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone). But gay wizards aside, music really did bring calm, it reminded Karl of the most revolutionary action of all in life - when there is nothing left to look forward to - gratitude. To sing along happily to every sad moment in life had been a goal of Karl's. If we're all on this great Titanic, better to go down playing music with the band than give in to fear and despair.
At Williamsport, Pennsylvannia Karl stopped for food, fuel, and nature's call. Inside the gas stations' mini-mart, while the attendant pumped his gas he looked at the great assortment of choices. Mountain Dew, Doritos, Hostess cupcakes. It was practically the ingredients for a LAN. Then as a beautiful red-haired girl stepped into the store with her stoner boyfriend Karl embarrassingly replaced all these items with their 'healthy alternatives'. Diet root beer, cheese flavoured rice cake chips, and sugar free gum. Ultimately these others didn't notice - and neither did the cashier, busy watching a sporting event of some kind on TV.
As Karl drove off he was ashamed of himself. Not that he saved himself from a potential heart-attack and/or bad breath (doritos do that), but because he gave in to the will of the herd, he sacrificed his own choice for the arbitrary judgment of others. This was the mortal sin of philosophers, Nietzsche would be ashamed.
Knowing that this line of thinking would lead to despair Karl began to think about 'the good ol' days'. He remembered LAN parties with all his nerd friends. The chief topics of conversation being: would you rather have force powers, or a time machine, and similar existential quandries.
From St. Genevieve high to undergrad days in TO, Karl had a solid group of guys. Once a month they'd all assemble at someone's place for their communion of nerdiness. Of late the group seemed to disappear, and Karl's guild had to pick up the interpersonal slack that he craved. But when the old gang got together, they still drew pictures of their school teachers to throw darts at, discussed the fates of the popular kids, and took solace in the past, that indestructible record, always available for the one with the strength of heart to look back on better days.
As the son set, Karl pulled into Hagerstown, VA. He had crossed the state line. After eating dinner at Applebees and receiving many confused and derisive glares from servers and fellow diners alike, Karl found another dead end road. It was surrounded by trees, and Karl parked his truck and set things up. The back seat was leveled off from the many blankets he had shoved ontop of his suitcases on the floor. Getting comfortable he opened his laptop, emailed his guildies to let them know of his impending arrival, and began to watch the fifth element. 'Time doesn't matter, only life' Fr. Vito Cornelius reminded him (and Bruce Willis) and Karl didn't feel embarrassed that he was 27 years old and sleeping in a pickup truck in a town he'd never heard of, heading to the 'great LAN in the sky' to meet his friends of 5 years for the first time.
Karl was enjoying Nostalgia, he was enjoying a life with only the vaguest of self-determined goals, no impositions or obligations, the joys of the past, and the bright promise of tomorrow.
Sleeping in the truck had worked out fine. Karl took pride in his truck, a 95 GM pickup he'd bought off a guy who just retired from the warehouse. It had character and Karl like it because it was so unlike everything he stood for. He was not a working man, did not move large tools or steel, and yet every time he saw it and realized it was his, he felt a small swelling in his chest and had a remade self-image. It was what Karl could potentially be, not what he was. Everyone else just thought it an ugly waste of gas and money.
After trying his idealistic plan of going wherever the wind may take him, Karl realized that there are alot of dead end streets, and that drivin in circles takes alot more time than he was prepared to spend on such an endeavour. Thus with a heavy heart, he yielded to mapquest at 8:33 AM on the first morning of the journey. (http://www.mapquest.com/maps?1c=Bath&1s=NY&1y=US&1l=42.336899&1g=-77.3181&1v=CITY&2c=Fredericksburg&2s=VA&2y=US&2l=38.303101&2g=-77.4608&2v=CITY)
6 and a half hours. The first emotion Karl felt was anger. It seemed like such a short journey. Any normal person could make the distance in one day. 'bet Dad could make it there and back to Scarborough if some diplomat was trapped there' Karl pondered angrily. This was his quest, it was supposed to be epic, and now looking that all he had to do was head south for a while, it seemed to make it appear trite. Originally he was worried his family and acquaintances would be overwhelmed with fear at his bold escape, now he worried they'd not worry at all.
In any case, Karl got onto another highway and headed south. As he merged into the left lane still deep in thought the overweight orphaned philosophe laughed to himelf. Knowing how easy he could get lost, it would probably take Karl a week to arrive anyway. Turning on the CD player and singing along to his embarrassing mix of 'guilty pleasures' (Avril Lavigne, Blink 182, and Weird Al) Karl faded away into the world of music and remembered a line from an equally embarrassing book: "a music...a magic beyond all" (Dumbledore in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone). But gay wizards aside, music really did bring calm, it reminded Karl of the most revolutionary action of all in life - when there is nothing left to look forward to - gratitude. To sing along happily to every sad moment in life had been a goal of Karl's. If we're all on this great Titanic, better to go down playing music with the band than give in to fear and despair.
At Williamsport, Pennsylvannia Karl stopped for food, fuel, and nature's call. Inside the gas stations' mini-mart, while the attendant pumped his gas he looked at the great assortment of choices. Mountain Dew, Doritos, Hostess cupcakes. It was practically the ingredients for a LAN. Then as a beautiful red-haired girl stepped into the store with her stoner boyfriend Karl embarrassingly replaced all these items with their 'healthy alternatives'. Diet root beer, cheese flavoured rice cake chips, and sugar free gum. Ultimately these others didn't notice - and neither did the cashier, busy watching a sporting event of some kind on TV.
As Karl drove off he was ashamed of himself. Not that he saved himself from a potential heart-attack and/or bad breath (doritos do that), but because he gave in to the will of the herd, he sacrificed his own choice for the arbitrary judgment of others. This was the mortal sin of philosophers, Nietzsche would be ashamed.
Knowing that this line of thinking would lead to despair Karl began to think about 'the good ol' days'. He remembered LAN parties with all his nerd friends. The chief topics of conversation being: would you rather have force powers, or a time machine, and similar existential quandries.
From St. Genevieve high to undergrad days in TO, Karl had a solid group of guys. Once a month they'd all assemble at someone's place for their communion of nerdiness. Of late the group seemed to disappear, and Karl's guild had to pick up the interpersonal slack that he craved. But when the old gang got together, they still drew pictures of their school teachers to throw darts at, discussed the fates of the popular kids, and took solace in the past, that indestructible record, always available for the one with the strength of heart to look back on better days.
As the son set, Karl pulled into Hagerstown, VA. He had crossed the state line. After eating dinner at Applebees and receiving many confused and derisive glares from servers and fellow diners alike, Karl found another dead end road. It was surrounded by trees, and Karl parked his truck and set things up. The back seat was leveled off from the many blankets he had shoved ontop of his suitcases on the floor. Getting comfortable he opened his laptop, emailed his guildies to let them know of his impending arrival, and began to watch the fifth element. 'Time doesn't matter, only life' Fr. Vito Cornelius reminded him (and Bruce Willis) and Karl didn't feel embarrassed that he was 27 years old and sleeping in a pickup truck in a town he'd never heard of, heading to the 'great LAN in the sky' to meet his friends of 5 years for the first time.
Karl was enjoying Nostalgia, he was enjoying a life with only the vaguest of self-determined goals, no impositions or obligations, the joys of the past, and the bright promise of tomorrow.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Story (3) The Border
Karl had a map of every state saved on his laptop, only 5 minutes and he could use his mobile internet hookup to connect anywhere for mapquest, googlemaps, or any other tool created for geographically-challenged folks like himself. Paradoxically, he also promised himself that they would not be used unless in most dire necessity.
The State. That sounded wrong to Karl. He had been instilled with the proper respect for legitimate authorities, and he never committed any grossly illegal crimes, but one thing Karl hated was government. As a philosopher he got some of Locke's theories about 'sacred property rights' and as an R.C. he got "Rerum Novarum" and the warnings against 'godless communism', but at a soul-level, he didn't believe in State authority. Not a violent one, nor a revolutionary one, but an anarchist nonetheless Karl was; like the Amish really.
It was with this intellectual frustration, coupled with the natural fear of force that had Karl worried as he approached the border. In these moments of life where one feels stress, it's to Tradition that a man flees, what their father taught them, what they've learned in life right or wrong. So from previous Authorities based on seemingly ridiculous claims, Karl began to worry/pray: 'Please don't be a woman, women are always tougher, trying to assert their power, please let the guard be right about to leave the shift, please let me say something funny that will put them at ease, mention religion and they'll leave you alone...' and in this manner Karl continued to hope.
However, as it always seems to, the Dark Providence of Fate ordained that Karl should get a young female border guard, on the first day of her job, with a supervisor, and little traffic behind him. Perfect. Now there was nothing left for Karl to do, he didn't even have a real story planned out.
---
"Passport or valid photo identification please" ordered the faux-bold young lady
Karl handed his passport over.
"Citizenship...?" - the girl mumbled and immediately looked to her supervisor who informed her that this was the first question and that she was supposed to ask it before. Karl didn't know what he was supposed to do, as she now had his passport and could clearly tell his citizenship as well as all the 'important' facts of his life. The awkward silence could be cut with a knife, the young guard was flustered, and the supervisor was called away from the booth to deal with some other more pressing issue for the moment.
Against all his will, knowing he should focus, Karl began to silently ponder the idea of the passport, 'Kierkegaard said "if you label me, you negate me" , and what is a passport but a series of labels, the tightest definative box of all the data the world at large thinks is worth knowing about you, and-' his thought was cut off by the realization that she had asked another question ('purpose of your trip?'), trying to sound professional and stall as she looked for a script, or some list of protocol to save her from real human interaction.
Idiotically Karl said "Did you know what Kierkegaard said about labels?"
Utterly baffled she looked back at him scowling with disbelief.
"sorry, nevermind, not important.. um pleasure - that's the purpose of my trip - I'm just going to meet some friends" Karl stuttered.
"He said 'if you label me, you negate me'... it's in Wayne's World" She replied, almost trying to hide the fact that she knew, and yet still confused as to why he asked.
Further awkward silence. Cars had begun to line up behind Karl, stress built. The supervisor hurriedly returned and inquired as to her success and she straightened up and affirmed her work. He absent-mindedly handed Karl the passport and they began talking.
Miraculous. Miraculous was the only word Karl could think of as he drove away. They didn't ask him why he was going (shamefully, and ridiculously: To play a video game), how long he was staying (potentiallly: indefinately, which would've insured his swift return home), or who he was staying with (truthfully: an ogre shaman known as "Kastinkillz" who he had called 'Kast' for 5 years now). Things were looking up in an extraordinary way.
Out of respect and reverence Karl went to the only place he could think of right now to celebrate his successful transition from the lands of Queen Elizabeth II to the American Rebels, a nearby shrine he had been to with his on campus Catholic group.
It was 4:14 PM and as he pulled in, everyone seemed to be leaving Fatima shrine. He greeted the priest, was shriven, and lit a candle and said a prayer for his safe journey beneath an image of Papa JP II, the great philosopher-pope.
To many, Karl's behaviour would seem indescribably odd, insane, or just contradictory, but alongside "The Game" (as he liked to call Everquest), there were two things that always made him feel whole: Catholicism, and Philosophy.
Karl came from a background that always seemed normal enough in multi-cultural Scarborough where he grew up. He was adopted as an infant, and would never have known except for the clear racial difference. His father was an Indian Diplomat with a wonderful English accent and a classical education, he taught Karl to read younger than all of the other children at school and would quote political theorists from Aristotle and Hobbes and Rawls on any occasion. That is when he actually was in the country, which was rare as he was always travelling somewhere.
Karl's mother was the complete opposite, she seemed to lack a passion for anything. She had a long German lineage to which Karl owed his name (after his mother's grandfather who had been some kind of Army official in the Weimar republic). Though her marrying an Indian man, and his father's marrying of a Saxon woman, meant virtual exile from most of their respective families. All of them except Karl's maternal grandparents with whom he lived, scorned them for their 'unnatural' union. Karl could never understand how his mother, this passive and silent woman, who seemed so much a stranger to him even after all these years, had at one point possessed enough passion to defiantly act in love. It was a mystery.
And then there was Karl, with no shared genetics or heritage, physically and linguistically an Anglo, adopted into these two confused cultures and lives. Perhaps this confusion was why he felt at home in the racial hodgepodge of Catholicism. Certainly, it was why he fell in love with Philosophy. Karl thought of himself as Socrates had once, "neither Athenian nor Greek, but a citizen of the world". And like Socrates, he had spent his life trying to fulfill that ancient command inscribed on the temple of the oracle of Apollo at Delphi: "KNOW THYSELF"
As the sun set and he pulled into a rest stop - not even halfway through New York State yet - Karl was joyful. Anticipating for the first time in a long time, a new beginning, and in typical nerd-tradition he hummed the Star Wars theme and pretended he was on Tatooine as he stretched and watched the sun go down. That is, until some cute girls pulled up in a car next to him and he abruptly finished it.
The State. That sounded wrong to Karl. He had been instilled with the proper respect for legitimate authorities, and he never committed any grossly illegal crimes, but one thing Karl hated was government. As a philosopher he got some of Locke's theories about 'sacred property rights' and as an R.C. he got "Rerum Novarum" and the warnings against 'godless communism', but at a soul-level, he didn't believe in State authority. Not a violent one, nor a revolutionary one, but an anarchist nonetheless Karl was; like the Amish really.
It was with this intellectual frustration, coupled with the natural fear of force that had Karl worried as he approached the border. In these moments of life where one feels stress, it's to Tradition that a man flees, what their father taught them, what they've learned in life right or wrong. So from previous Authorities based on seemingly ridiculous claims, Karl began to worry/pray: 'Please don't be a woman, women are always tougher, trying to assert their power, please let the guard be right about to leave the shift, please let me say something funny that will put them at ease, mention religion and they'll leave you alone...' and in this manner Karl continued to hope.
However, as it always seems to, the Dark Providence of Fate ordained that Karl should get a young female border guard, on the first day of her job, with a supervisor, and little traffic behind him. Perfect. Now there was nothing left for Karl to do, he didn't even have a real story planned out.
---
"Passport or valid photo identification please" ordered the faux-bold young lady
Karl handed his passport over.
"Citizenship...?" - the girl mumbled and immediately looked to her supervisor who informed her that this was the first question and that she was supposed to ask it before. Karl didn't know what he was supposed to do, as she now had his passport and could clearly tell his citizenship as well as all the 'important' facts of his life. The awkward silence could be cut with a knife, the young guard was flustered, and the supervisor was called away from the booth to deal with some other more pressing issue for the moment.
Against all his will, knowing he should focus, Karl began to silently ponder the idea of the passport, 'Kierkegaard said "if you label me, you negate me" , and what is a passport but a series of labels, the tightest definative box of all the data the world at large thinks is worth knowing about you, and-' his thought was cut off by the realization that she had asked another question ('purpose of your trip?'), trying to sound professional and stall as she looked for a script, or some list of protocol to save her from real human interaction.
Idiotically Karl said "Did you know what Kierkegaard said about labels?"
Utterly baffled she looked back at him scowling with disbelief.
"sorry, nevermind, not important.. um pleasure - that's the purpose of my trip - I'm just going to meet some friends" Karl stuttered.
"He said 'if you label me, you negate me'... it's in Wayne's World" She replied, almost trying to hide the fact that she knew, and yet still confused as to why he asked.
Further awkward silence. Cars had begun to line up behind Karl, stress built. The supervisor hurriedly returned and inquired as to her success and she straightened up and affirmed her work. He absent-mindedly handed Karl the passport and they began talking.
Miraculous. Miraculous was the only word Karl could think of as he drove away. They didn't ask him why he was going (shamefully, and ridiculously: To play a video game), how long he was staying (potentiallly: indefinately, which would've insured his swift return home), or who he was staying with (truthfully: an ogre shaman known as "Kastinkillz" who he had called 'Kast' for 5 years now). Things were looking up in an extraordinary way.
Out of respect and reverence Karl went to the only place he could think of right now to celebrate his successful transition from the lands of Queen Elizabeth II to the American Rebels, a nearby shrine he had been to with his on campus Catholic group.
It was 4:14 PM and as he pulled in, everyone seemed to be leaving Fatima shrine. He greeted the priest, was shriven, and lit a candle and said a prayer for his safe journey beneath an image of Papa JP II, the great philosopher-pope.
To many, Karl's behaviour would seem indescribably odd, insane, or just contradictory, but alongside "The Game" (as he liked to call Everquest), there were two things that always made him feel whole: Catholicism, and Philosophy.
Karl came from a background that always seemed normal enough in multi-cultural Scarborough where he grew up. He was adopted as an infant, and would never have known except for the clear racial difference. His father was an Indian Diplomat with a wonderful English accent and a classical education, he taught Karl to read younger than all of the other children at school and would quote political theorists from Aristotle and Hobbes and Rawls on any occasion. That is when he actually was in the country, which was rare as he was always travelling somewhere.
Karl's mother was the complete opposite, she seemed to lack a passion for anything. She had a long German lineage to which Karl owed his name (after his mother's grandfather who had been some kind of Army official in the Weimar republic). Though her marrying an Indian man, and his father's marrying of a Saxon woman, meant virtual exile from most of their respective families. All of them except Karl's maternal grandparents with whom he lived, scorned them for their 'unnatural' union. Karl could never understand how his mother, this passive and silent woman, who seemed so much a stranger to him even after all these years, had at one point possessed enough passion to defiantly act in love. It was a mystery.
And then there was Karl, with no shared genetics or heritage, physically and linguistically an Anglo, adopted into these two confused cultures and lives. Perhaps this confusion was why he felt at home in the racial hodgepodge of Catholicism. Certainly, it was why he fell in love with Philosophy. Karl thought of himself as Socrates had once, "neither Athenian nor Greek, but a citizen of the world". And like Socrates, he had spent his life trying to fulfill that ancient command inscribed on the temple of the oracle of Apollo at Delphi: "KNOW THYSELF"
As the sun set and he pulled into a rest stop - not even halfway through New York State yet - Karl was joyful. Anticipating for the first time in a long time, a new beginning, and in typical nerd-tradition he hummed the Star Wars theme and pretended he was on Tatooine as he stretched and watched the sun go down. That is, until some cute girls pulled up in a car next to him and he abruptly finished it.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Story (2): Life and Work
Karl hated driving, normally. There was always pressure to get somewhere on time, always the fear of driving down the wrong road. always. He knew that if he could just drive, using only a compass, with no particular route in mind, and if he could master his fear, then another nail could be removed from his coffin.
***
Ever day since graduation, he'd felt the nails being driven in. Masters in Philosophy, summa cum laude from University of Toronto. When you live in Scarborough, it's not much of a commute. Most of the people Karl knew lived within 30 minutes of his house. His life was there. A teaching assistant, living in his grandparents basement. Mom and Dad travelled so often they decided to just sell their house altogether. They'd come back every once and a while, for the holidays. But otherwise... it was Karl, and Grandma (Grandpa was on a respirator, and senile as well).
This life Karl had come to know consisted of minute intellectual scraps he had with his self-proclaimed Buddhist, and newly liberated atheist undergrads. A few papers to mark, a few classes to prepare for, and such life went... for a while.
After cut-backs and staff changes, one day the budding would-be professor found himself without a job in academia.
***
It's amazing how quickly things slip through your fingers sometimes, and sure enough Karl was working at a Warehouse job packing skids of industrial cleaning supplies. He was told that he should be grateful in this economy for a job at all, his father reminded him, and according to mom some 'real' work would do him good.
As a metaphysician Karl knew only too well the dichotemy between every day life and the 'real world'. Moreover as a philosopher he also found the maxim of Aristotle -that physical labour degrades the mind- to be the reality of his life.
The more cleaner he packed, the more his anticipation grew for the mind numbing recreation he planned after each shift in the trenches. From 5pm to midnight he worked 4 days a week. As soon as he scrubbed his hands clean with the grainy orange soap at the end of his shift he would look in the mirror, and even though nothing had noticably changed, somehow it seemed like he had earned another day's work of value in the eyes of family and the world at large.
After he journeyed home and cleaned up, Karl would enter his 'real world'. If Plato was said to have his head stuck in the clouds, Karl could be said to have his in the computer.
Everquest had a reputation for being addictive, ever since he was 13 Karl had played this game. A massive multiplayer online role-playing game where (previously) thousands would play online together, it was the original, though popularity had waned of late. It had become such an important part of life, sometimes the everyday world of experience with it's fake smiles and formalities seemed to Karl like the game.
Comfort. The massive cushioned chair called to him amidst the immaculately cleaned game space. This corner of Karl's room was holy to him in the proper sense of the word. It was 'set apart' , it was the last safe place on earth, the balance that kept life all together. Once Karl even noticed that occasionally he would silently shed a tear of joy as he sat down and deeply exhaled all of the day's issues. He had a mini zen garden and everything for loading times and logins.
As he logged on at quarter to one, he was reunited to his friends. From Seattle to Memphis to Glasgow, Karl had his online fellow raiders. It didn't matter that they had everything they wanted in-game. It didn't matter that hardly anyone played anymore, nothing mattered but their companionship. The voices of these people, the jokes and personalities, the community they had was real. Even if their characters weren't.
After the hours of laughter, sometimes serious conversation, and alot of silent space filled only with the occasional sound effect or sigh of a friend, Karl would log off. Stumbling next to his bedside shrine, he would mumble through the Rosary in Latin, make the signum crucis (Sign of the Cross), and gaze one last time at the icon of Mary before blowing out the candle and passing out in bed.
In lecture once Karl had heard that Bishop Berkeley said that it was more important for Heaven to exist, than for us to be there. Thinking back on it later, he felt his online home was much the same as Berkeley's Heaven. As long as it remained, the foundation of life could not be moved. Even in the darkest hours of work, or the lonely dinners with his elderly warden.
***
But obviously since Karl found himself with 2 packed suitcases and a passport in his trembling hands, the foundation had moved.
Twelve days before the incident in the parking lot, the proverbial Krakatoa occurred for Karl. Sony had declared that they had gone bankrupt, and as a result their games would be offline - possibly indefinately. There were many tears and angry complaints among the guild. Genuine fear gripped these people. After all, their particular gaming group or guild (cleverly called 'zeno's zealots' - it was a philosophy joke Karl had made up) had been around for almost 5 years, and many had been playing -like Karl- for over a decade.
One of the guys in the group had a large house in Virginia, and he promised he'd be able to make his own private local server. If we could all get to his place, we could all play together and things would be just like old times. The strange thing was, none of them knew each other 'irl' (in real life), but the offer still stood, for any willing to brave the trek.
It only took 5 days for Karl to finally crack, it was decided, he would go to meet his guild. When your life falls apart, you have to begin to piece it together somewhere. Karl didn't know about philosophy, or family, but he did know one thing he couldn't live without, his community.
"We are all travelers in the wilderness of this world, and the best we can find in our travels is an honest friend." - Robert Louis Stevenson
***
Ever day since graduation, he'd felt the nails being driven in. Masters in Philosophy, summa cum laude from University of Toronto. When you live in Scarborough, it's not much of a commute. Most of the people Karl knew lived within 30 minutes of his house. His life was there. A teaching assistant, living in his grandparents basement. Mom and Dad travelled so often they decided to just sell their house altogether. They'd come back every once and a while, for the holidays. But otherwise... it was Karl, and Grandma (Grandpa was on a respirator, and senile as well).
This life Karl had come to know consisted of minute intellectual scraps he had with his self-proclaimed Buddhist, and newly liberated atheist undergrads. A few papers to mark, a few classes to prepare for, and such life went... for a while.
After cut-backs and staff changes, one day the budding would-be professor found himself without a job in academia.
***
It's amazing how quickly things slip through your fingers sometimes, and sure enough Karl was working at a Warehouse job packing skids of industrial cleaning supplies. He was told that he should be grateful in this economy for a job at all, his father reminded him, and according to mom some 'real' work would do him good.
As a metaphysician Karl knew only too well the dichotemy between every day life and the 'real world'. Moreover as a philosopher he also found the maxim of Aristotle -that physical labour degrades the mind- to be the reality of his life.
The more cleaner he packed, the more his anticipation grew for the mind numbing recreation he planned after each shift in the trenches. From 5pm to midnight he worked 4 days a week. As soon as he scrubbed his hands clean with the grainy orange soap at the end of his shift he would look in the mirror, and even though nothing had noticably changed, somehow it seemed like he had earned another day's work of value in the eyes of family and the world at large.
After he journeyed home and cleaned up, Karl would enter his 'real world'. If Plato was said to have his head stuck in the clouds, Karl could be said to have his in the computer.
Everquest had a reputation for being addictive, ever since he was 13 Karl had played this game. A massive multiplayer online role-playing game where (previously) thousands would play online together, it was the original, though popularity had waned of late. It had become such an important part of life, sometimes the everyday world of experience with it's fake smiles and formalities seemed to Karl like the game.
Comfort. The massive cushioned chair called to him amidst the immaculately cleaned game space. This corner of Karl's room was holy to him in the proper sense of the word. It was 'set apart' , it was the last safe place on earth, the balance that kept life all together. Once Karl even noticed that occasionally he would silently shed a tear of joy as he sat down and deeply exhaled all of the day's issues. He had a mini zen garden and everything for loading times and logins.
As he logged on at quarter to one, he was reunited to his friends. From Seattle to Memphis to Glasgow, Karl had his online fellow raiders. It didn't matter that they had everything they wanted in-game. It didn't matter that hardly anyone played anymore, nothing mattered but their companionship. The voices of these people, the jokes and personalities, the community they had was real. Even if their characters weren't.
After the hours of laughter, sometimes serious conversation, and alot of silent space filled only with the occasional sound effect or sigh of a friend, Karl would log off. Stumbling next to his bedside shrine, he would mumble through the Rosary in Latin, make the signum crucis (Sign of the Cross), and gaze one last time at the icon of Mary before blowing out the candle and passing out in bed.
In lecture once Karl had heard that Bishop Berkeley said that it was more important for Heaven to exist, than for us to be there. Thinking back on it later, he felt his online home was much the same as Berkeley's Heaven. As long as it remained, the foundation of life could not be moved. Even in the darkest hours of work, or the lonely dinners with his elderly warden.
***
But obviously since Karl found himself with 2 packed suitcases and a passport in his trembling hands, the foundation had moved.
Twelve days before the incident in the parking lot, the proverbial Krakatoa occurred for Karl. Sony had declared that they had gone bankrupt, and as a result their games would be offline - possibly indefinately. There were many tears and angry complaints among the guild. Genuine fear gripped these people. After all, their particular gaming group or guild (cleverly called 'zeno's zealots' - it was a philosophy joke Karl had made up) had been around for almost 5 years, and many had been playing -like Karl- for over a decade.
One of the guys in the group had a large house in Virginia, and he promised he'd be able to make his own private local server. If we could all get to his place, we could all play together and things would be just like old times. The strange thing was, none of them knew each other 'irl' (in real life), but the offer still stood, for any willing to brave the trek.
It only took 5 days for Karl to finally crack, it was decided, he would go to meet his guild. When your life falls apart, you have to begin to piece it together somewhere. Karl didn't know about philosophy, or family, but he did know one thing he couldn't live without, his community.
"We are all travelers in the wilderness of this world, and the best we can find in our travels is an honest friend." - Robert Louis Stevenson
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Beginning a Story
I've been trying to write a story recently, and I just decided to start writing rather than continue planning and failing to actually do it. Here is the terrible rough draft:
The Empty Parking Space
Karl went to work. That's what everyone thought he did, though he got angry about it and sometimes acted melodramatic over something so simple, so everyday. As he drove by the Chevron station he noticed the gas in his tank dangerously low. 'fuck it, if I'm late for work what does it matter' Karl thought. Taking himself far too seriously Karl filled his tank and drove to the warehouse. He looked at the clock. 5:03. Knowing he had 3 minutes left before he would have to deal with a supervisor in order to begin work he shut off the engine and looked in the mirror.
Dead eyes, dirty baseball cap, 3 chins. Karl didn't recognize himself. Perhaps - he wondered, being the philosophical type - perhaps I'm not myself.
'what doth it profit a man if he gaineth the whole world and yet lose his soul?'
At 5:07 Karl was not on the shop floor, he was gone. No one would notice for 10 more minutes. No one would worry for 20. No phone calls would be made for 30. But it didn't matter. Karl was gone, and no one would've predicted where he was headed or why.
With the window down and his arm out catching the breeze he was free. Life and all it's cramp pettiness and mundanity had prepared to make the killing blow, but something happened which Fate itself could not see. Karl had gotten up, he had survived. The empty parking space was the only difference it seemed, but how great the difference was for a man starting over again. It might've been an empty cell
(to be continued)
The Empty Parking Space
Karl went to work. That's what everyone thought he did, though he got angry about it and sometimes acted melodramatic over something so simple, so everyday. As he drove by the Chevron station he noticed the gas in his tank dangerously low. 'fuck it, if I'm late for work what does it matter' Karl thought. Taking himself far too seriously Karl filled his tank and drove to the warehouse. He looked at the clock. 5:03. Knowing he had 3 minutes left before he would have to deal with a supervisor in order to begin work he shut off the engine and looked in the mirror.
Dead eyes, dirty baseball cap, 3 chins. Karl didn't recognize himself. Perhaps - he wondered, being the philosophical type - perhaps I'm not myself.
'what doth it profit a man if he gaineth the whole world and yet lose his soul?'
At 5:07 Karl was not on the shop floor, he was gone. No one would notice for 10 more minutes. No one would worry for 20. No phone calls would be made for 30. But it didn't matter. Karl was gone, and no one would've predicted where he was headed or why.
With the window down and his arm out catching the breeze he was free. Life and all it's cramp pettiness and mundanity had prepared to make the killing blow, but something happened which Fate itself could not see. Karl had gotten up, he had survived. The empty parking space was the only difference it seemed, but how great the difference was for a man starting over again. It might've been an empty cell
(to be continued)
Monday, February 8, 2010
The Strangers in my Life
I just finised reading, for my existential philosophy class, a book called "The Stranger" by Albert Camus. Camus was a famous existentialist atheist and this is one of his 'great' works. The one thing I like about the Atheist existentialists (probably the only thing I like about them) is their logical consistency / systematic thinking. For them, there really can be no knowledge beyond your own personal experience. Thus for them, God is dead and irrelevant because to some extent reason is dead. Theorizing about the origins of existence are meaningless, indeed for them, life itself is entirely devoid of meaning.
It's disturbing to me because the story is all about a man who believes in nothing. He doesn't really believe in love, he doesn't care about God or anything metaphysical at all really. He doesn't feel anything when his mother dies, when a woman proposes to him, when he kills a man, or finally when he is condemned to death. Complete and utter apathy. In the novel the chaplains and lawyers can't understand how he has no desire for anything else, just life without any meaning or hope.
Now there are many non-Christian and even some atheistic worldviews that DO posit meaning to one's life or at least existence, and with those people a dialogue is possible. If a man loves his wife or even money one can have a discussion about values and meaning, etc. But if a man is utterly apathetic and detached from everything, there is nothing one can do.
I've met some people at Brock this year that have scared me in this way. They have terrible things happen to them, or be heartbroken, but none of this leads them to any questioning. They don't even hate God or life - which I think is preferable to indifference. They just are, they aren't looking for any answers.
It all reminds me of a character I greatly admire, a man who is the complete antithesis to Camus' 'stranger'. Socrates, the gadfly of Athens who asked the great questions about life, justice, goodness, beauty, etc. He ended up dying, but one of my favourite quotes from him is: "the unexamined life is not worth living". I tend to agree with him, and so I am still having difficulty dealing with people not content to even participate in life. People who just subsist. It reminds me that -as people from St. Augustine to Eli Wiesel have said before - that the opposite of love is not hate, it's apathy. Apathy is like Darkness. It's the absence of anything.
cookie-cutter neo-darwinians/Dawkinites, University Buddhists, Drunken Hedonists, and God-Hating Atheists are all normal figures in university life. But Camus has shown me my greatest fear in his novel. If you want to know what life looks like in post-modern atheism, feel free to read the book. I guarentee you'll be looking for meaning anywhere after it.
It's disturbing to me because the story is all about a man who believes in nothing. He doesn't really believe in love, he doesn't care about God or anything metaphysical at all really. He doesn't feel anything when his mother dies, when a woman proposes to him, when he kills a man, or finally when he is condemned to death. Complete and utter apathy. In the novel the chaplains and lawyers can't understand how he has no desire for anything else, just life without any meaning or hope.
Now there are many non-Christian and even some atheistic worldviews that DO posit meaning to one's life or at least existence, and with those people a dialogue is possible. If a man loves his wife or even money one can have a discussion about values and meaning, etc. But if a man is utterly apathetic and detached from everything, there is nothing one can do.
I've met some people at Brock this year that have scared me in this way. They have terrible things happen to them, or be heartbroken, but none of this leads them to any questioning. They don't even hate God or life - which I think is preferable to indifference. They just are, they aren't looking for any answers.
It all reminds me of a character I greatly admire, a man who is the complete antithesis to Camus' 'stranger'. Socrates, the gadfly of Athens who asked the great questions about life, justice, goodness, beauty, etc. He ended up dying, but one of my favourite quotes from him is: "the unexamined life is not worth living". I tend to agree with him, and so I am still having difficulty dealing with people not content to even participate in life. People who just subsist. It reminds me that -as people from St. Augustine to Eli Wiesel have said before - that the opposite of love is not hate, it's apathy. Apathy is like Darkness. It's the absence of anything.
cookie-cutter neo-darwinians/Dawkinites, University Buddhists, Drunken Hedonists, and God-Hating Atheists are all normal figures in university life. But Camus has shown me my greatest fear in his novel. If you want to know what life looks like in post-modern atheism, feel free to read the book. I guarentee you'll be looking for meaning anywhere after it.
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