I just finished reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Persig in which the main character pretty much goes insane due to his belief that ‘quality’ is the source of both the subjective and objective world because, by the example he gives, quality is determined by a consensus, therefore it must exist outside of the mind. This conclusion left me frustrated and the rest of the book contains mostly philosophy that attempts to justify this claim and elaborate its meaning when simple evolutionary psychology could have easily put his mind at ease.
Here’s a complete outline:
The problem is that he was attempting to use this ‘quality’ idea to bridge the divisive structure of subjective/objective or mind/matter dualism. I never thought the idea of subjective/objective as a dichotomy was ever very convincing but one doesn’t need an end-all and be-all term to solve the issue. All one has to do to reconcile this is understand that the mind is a product of matter, simply via the brain and sensory organs. Continue reading
I awoke in the darkness, heart pounding. Sitting up, the world appeared to spin around me as a cold sweat ran down my temples. This had happened before but it had never been this intense. I felt like I was going to faint. Wiping the sweat from my face, I rolled over and groaned when seeing what time it was. Five in the morning, even if I could calm my racing heart, it would only give me another one or two hours sleep before I would have to get up to go to work.
I pulled the damp blankets off me and sat up, swinging my slimy legs off the side of the bed. The rush of blood that pounded through my head was nearly enough to knock me out. Although adjusted to the darkness, my blurry vision narrowed to a pinprick before widening again as my heart thudded to fight the pull of gravity. Continue reading
This infograph is my best attempt at explaining it but you’ll get more information here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/GameLit/
Sol trembled in fear for just a moment before his instincts kicked in. He ran on the dirt track, making his way to the three-storied orphan’s residence on the second floor. Before he could even get to the stairs, a red beam of light shot through the open doors and windows of the hut. What followed were the screams and children and balls of flame that rose from windows and up the walls, blackening the plaster.
He screamed in horror as the large eye of the cyclops looked down on him. As the glow of light filled the slit underneath its armor, something deep seemed to pull from inside him. The red light shot out in a line, ready to burn alive like it had the children. With a gasp, the pulling sensation became a push and he winced at the blast.
It doesn’t hurt, it’s warm!
Jets of heat rose up on either side of him. He opened his eyes to see that where the line hit him, it split like he was at the center of a Y. However, instead of hitting me, the beam deflected and hit the buildings in the wooden village behind. It had got right over the gap of the river. The log cabins burned quickly, the warm night wind catching at the flame and spreading it to other homes.
– ABILITY UNLOCKED: DIVIDER – Continue reading
The painting does resemble her a little, but there’s something missing.
Heron Soloman, or Honest Sol as the orphans called him, was no painter. He had failed to capture how the light caught her copper hair, which used to turn it a fiery orange. He continued to tinker with it, the second layer of paint making parts better but others much worse. It was late in the afternoon by the time he was finished and even then he wasn’t satisfied. Still, he felt he’d done a better job than last time he had tried to capture her face.
He had thought that each time he tried, it would bring focus to his vision so he would stop seeing the glowing script that always appeared there.
– PAINTING +1 –
Painting plus one? Damn it, if I’m going insane enough to start seeing things why couldn’t it have been something useful? Continue reading