M. Thomas Apple's Blog, page 16

Dear Diary – January 4, 2019

It’s a lie. It’s all a lie.

When you believe in a lie, you fool yourself. When you say it with conviction, you fool others.

Get enough people fooled, and you got yourself a new religion.

Bringer of Light, Chapter 41 (Part Two): A reminiscence

On Mars, present day, hydroengineer-slash-settler faction liaison “Sam” Weng realizes that his dreams may not come to pass…as he envisions the past influencing the future…

Luna Base, the Remembered Past

Cup of steaming coffee in one hand, I pause in front of an abstract painting in the corridor connecting the company cafeteria to my project’s team office.

I take a careful sip and contemplates the painting. No idea what it was meant to depict. As an architect, and a good one at that, I know I should have more appreciation and understanding for abstract work. But this one…

Was artwork in office buildings always chosen because it was bad? I wonder. Or did the fact that it was in an office building such as this one make the artwork look bad?

Little help from the lighting fixtures. No matter how much the company tried improved the frequencies, a lack of windows simply make it seem like they work in a hospital.

I sip the coffee again and quickens my pace. Best get to one of the outer sitting rooms before the coffee cools too much. Turn my right hand palm up. The semi-transparent organoplastic covering my right wrist projects an image on his forearm, reminds me not to keep my guest waiting.

I place a palm in front of a blue wall panel. The door slides open and glance around the sitting room. A few people here and there, in sets of three or four chairs surrounding small tables. Engrossed in their forearms, fingers of the opposing hand twitching as they expand screens, zoom, or open new connections to images only they can see.

I sip the quickly cooling coffee and walk slowly through the room. A row of ergonomic chairs faces the open windows of the outside wall. An older man silently sits in one, arms crossed.

“Mr. Bardish.”

The man turns to look at me.

“Sergey. Just Sergey.”

I forces an awkward smile. “Sergey. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Bardish grunts.

“I, uh…” I gesture. “Mind if I sit down?”

Bardish tilts his head. I sit wordlessly, holding the coffee carefully in my lap. I take another sip.

“Shall I get you a—”

“I’m not here to drink that soya-junk,” Bardish growls.

I set the cup on the narrow window ledge in front of them. The silence stretches for a few seconds before I try again.

“I heard they started up the World Cup again.”

“Football be damned,” Bardish suddenly snaps. “Why are you designing anything for, for those people?”

“Look, Sergey, I’m just.”

“You know what those.” Bardish stops himself. Others in the sitting room seem to have taken notice. He continues in a lowered, strained voice. “What those Russians did in the Eurasian Wars.”

I sigh and pick up the coffee cup again.

“I did not help you get this position so that you could—”

“Sergey, I’m very grateful for your—”

“—so you could stab me and my kin in the back.”

“—assistance in gaining the approval of the Moon Base Committee.”

“And to think that I trusted you with my family’s—”

“Sergey—”

“—future, with Clarissa!”

“Sergey, I had no choice!”

I stop, look around.

“Look,” I say forcefully. “I do not have any decision-making powers in terms of what projects I am assigned to do and whose buildings I am asked to design.”

Bardish slumps back in his chair and wags a finger. “You could have.”

“Refused?” I shake my head. “You might be able to. The savior of the Moon colony and hailed asteroid hunter can just snap his fingers and half the Council jumps. But me?”

Bardish falls silent.

I cradle the nearly empty cup, playing with the handle.

“I’m just an architect, Sergey. Not a retired Captain. Not a politician.”

The old hunter grunts. A good sign. I slowly breathe out.

“You know very well that I haven’t been exactly overjoyed at some of the design specifications that my team has been asked to work with. But work is work, and I have considered other options.”

Sergey raises one eyebrow.

“Not that I’m thinking of quitting. And I am very grateful that you put in a good word to the Council on my behalf.”

“It is a prestigious firm.”

“Yes, very prestigious,” I agree. “With many different divisions and departments. An opening may come up, one that will still involve Mars but in another capacity.”

“Ah. So terraforming no longer interests you, then?”

“No, no, of course not. I love it. It’s just.”

I sigh, stare out the window.

Bardish coughs into a fist.

“This landscape,” I say, waving a hand at it. “Does it appeal to you?”

“Appeal?” Bardish scoffs. “It works. I can breathe. What is to appeal?”

I close my eyes. “No, that’s, that’s not what I mean.”

“Do you mean, is it beautiful?”

I nod, vigorously. “Yes, yes, is it—do you like it?”

“No,” Sergey responds. Sits a bit more upright, folds his hands in front of his rather large midsection. He stares at the lunarscape. “I see green things. Water. Air. Clouds, on occasion. But…”

“But?”

Bardish pauses. “It’s not enough.”

“It’s not enough?”

“Not enough, no,” Bardish snaps. “It’s not like it was. Look, you want to say something, say it!”

“It’s not like Earth, is it, sir?” I persist. “It’s not like your memories, not like the place where you grew up. What made you who you are.”

Bardish opens, then closes his mouth with a grunt.

“Not like home,” I conclude. Sip coffee, make a face. Cold. I set the cup down and lean toward Sergey.

“Sergey, I know you meant well. And I am—have been—extremely grateful for just the chance to be here, in my current position.”

Bardish tilts his head. “What do you want?”

I sit back. “This place has no soul, Sergey. It looks alive, but the Moon is still a dead place. Green, yes, but still a lifeless rock.”

Bardish waits.

“Mars,” I say, “needs hydroponic engineers—“

“Nu?”

“—desalination operators, water control technicians, mechanics—”

“Water. Water! This is foolishness, utter foolishness!”

“Just get me on a team, let me get my foot in the door. On the Mars surface.”

“And then? What? You expect put in charge of some grand architectural project? Some artsy thing?”

“I don’t expect anything. I hope.” 

I struggle to control my voice and avoid eye contact with the old Captain. “Sergey, I’m suffocating here, at Lunar Base.”

Bardish sits still, looking past the architect into nothing.

I look around. Heads had looked up from forearms. Our conversation attracted too much attention. I lean closer to Sergey, trying not to sound too desperate.

“Look, I’m, you know, I’m. All I’m saying is.” 

He pauses.

Bardish looks at him, expressionless. “Mars. Water plant teams.”

“Yes, whatever it takes. Get me to the surface of the Red Planet. I know I can find a way to make the best of my, my talents. My abilities.”

Bardish closes his eyes and grunts.

“I just know, somehow, I can make Clarissa understand.”

Bardish’s eyes snaps open. “She has a life. In open space. Fiancé or not, she will make her own choices.”

I have no answer to that. I simply nod as Sergey stands, holding the chair’s arm for support.

“I will do what I can,” Bardish says. He points to the door. “Now you, go back to work. Whatever it is you are doing, for whomever it is, I don’t want to know. Just do your best, tak?”

————————————————————————————————

Sam sighed. The voice of Sergey had faded.

His best. For whom?

Next: Bringer of Light, Chapter 41: Weng makes his decision.

Dear Diary – March 26, 2001

[Written during my first trip to China]

My legs, especially my left calf, still ache from Hua Shang. That experience alone justifies my whole trip. I walked 6 km starting at about 1pm. Stopping only once for maybe 15-20 minutes for a Sprite and a flashlight, I reached the North Peak (Bei Feng) at a little after 5. I really should have continued to the South Peak (the highest at 2160m), but at just before a particularly treacherous climb, a stranger offered to take my picture. He did this twice later; he then asked me where I was going, so because I told him North Peak, he led me to the North Peak Hotel. I signed into an expensive room, thinking a locked door proof against bag theft — but unnecessarily, as there were no other guests at all! I got a TV, a washbasin (no running water) and access to outdoor lavatories (Must have been the “private bath” the guidebook lied about). Public toilets basically meant an open outhouse shitting down the rock face — so much for sacred mountain vibes.

I slept and, waking at 4 am, set off to climb the Blue Dragon. Only then did I know why one traditionally climbed the mountain at night: to conquer fear. Once I began, I could not return. Grasping the iron-link chain with one hand and flashlight with the other, all I could see were tiny, steep steps underfoot and clear stars overhead. Most stairs were about 60º, but several inclined more, and at least one near the beginning of the Blue Dragon was almost vertical, certainly 80º. At the very end, just before the sunrise viewing point, was the actual peak (2100m). From atop an enormous boulder crowned with pine trees and a lone camp light came the voices of two crazy park workers, exhorting all to brave the true East Peak. A guide at the bottom told me to be careful before I attempted to climb the rock. But as I realized the steps were actually more than 90º, and that my pack was pulling me backward as I yanked myself up on the chains, I gave up and went down again after about 10 feet.

When I returned after watching daybreak, I looked down at the Dragon and could only marvel at my audacity; I had come alone at night, scared half out of my wits, with heavy packpack and asthma and glasses and only 1 free hand, and I had climbed steps narrower than the width of my foot. With sheer rock cliffs on both sides and only a single metal chain between me and a quickly plummeting death. I did it. I have nothing left to fear.

Night owl here! OK also dinner time person (is that a thing?)

What’s your favorite time of day?

I’ve always been a night owl, always found it easier to concentrate when other brain waves were sleeping and not interfering with mine.

Now, though, I often find the most relaxing time of day is dinner time — because I get to cook for my family!

I never would have said that even five years ago. But the pandemic especially has given me a chance to try out all sorts of recipes, modifying, adding, subtracting as I go. It’s like a chemical experiment for our digestive systems!

I can’t wait to get home from work, start up a little Cannonball Adderly, Bill Evans, or Dizzy Gillespie and fire up the grill/wok/air heater and roll up my sleeves.

Of course, I still enjoy the late late hours of a tipple and a three-hour YouTube on the rise and fall of the Akkadian Empire (history nerd here). Not enough hours in the day!

September to April

September

I want to do a creative graduate thesis, he said.

In that case, you should keep a diary, his advisor suggested. Write every day.

OK, he said.

And bring me a story or two to look at.

OK.

October

These aren’t stories, his advisor informed. These are more like diary entries.

How should I write a story, then? he asked.

Write what you know. Base your stories on people and things around you.

OK.

And bring me another story or two.

OK.

November

The narration isn’t believable, his advisor imparted.

Why? he asked.

It’s too difficult for the reader to identify with the characters. Nobody has a family with nine children.

What should I do?

Go read Sherwood Anderson’s Winesburg, Ohio.

OK.

And bring me a couple more stories.

OK.

December

I don’t get any sense of through-story, his advisor complained.

What do you mean? he asked.

The stories aren’t connected. They’re all different.

Well, what should I do?

Try an internal perspective. Go read James Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

OK.

And bring me another story.

OK.

January

This is too abstract, his advisor mused.

What do you mean? he asked.

This isn’t a true plot. The symbolism is too obscure.

It’s a translation of something I wrote for a German class.

You don’t want to be Kafka.

I don’t?

You need real life stories, with real people and real problems.

What should I do?

Go read Raymond Carver’s “Cathedral.”

OK.

And…

Bring you another story?

Two.

February

I think I see the problem, his advisor intuited.

What is it? he asked.

I think you need to experience more life before you can be an effective writer.

What do you mean?

You need to go out into the world and work different jobs, meet different people, move around a bit.

My thesis is due in two months.

So it is. Make sure you give your draft to me next month.

OK.

And…

Another story?

No. Just read my comments and rewrite what you have.

OK.

March

I don’t see the point of adding poetry between the stories, his advisor grumped.

Why? he pondered.

The poems interfere with the prose.

I thought you didn’t like the prose.

I would say you need to add a poetic sense to your prose.

How do I do that?

Try writing poetry. For practice.

…

And finish the rewrite of the draft by next week.

OK.

And print three copies on a laser printer. And buy three of those thesis black cover binders.

OK.

April

Well, the three of us have examined your thesis, and we decided on a grade of B+, his advisor beamed.

…

I know it’s not as high as you wanted, but I argued that the interplay of letters, poetry, and stories woven together formed an interesting kind of metadiscourse narrative depth to the thesis structure.

…

Congratulations.

Thanks.

If you like this, you might enjoy Notes from the Nineties, a book with short stories and poems (the above is the first one, and may or may not be partially based on personal experiences my senior year in college).

Trapping light within metamaterial = ?

To explore new ways to control this fundamental force of nature, scientists from the City College of New York (CCNY) trapped light inside a magnetic metamaterial and made the material itself 10 times more magnetic in the process.

https://www.popularmechanics.com/science/a44843071/scientists-trapped-light-inside-metamaterial-magnetic/

Next up, magnetic lasers and lots and lots of more magnetic memory savings.

(Note that Popular Mechanics links the phrase “magneto-optical technologies” to an article claiming that the US has somehow managed to reverse-engineer alien technology from crashed UFOs…Um…OK…)

Dear Diary – August 26, 1999

The meek shall only inherit the earth if they can get a long-term mortgage loan floated from the aggressively idle rich.

Dear Diary – Posts from the Past

I’ve kept a journal (OK, a diary) for many, many years now. It first started in September 1984 as a junior high school 1st year (7th grade) English assignment — each day, we would be given a writing prompt and at the end of the 10-week term (quarterly system back then), the English teacher would look it over and write feedback.

At least, that was the idea. In mid-October my family moved to a county and school system about 60 miles away (it’s more complicated — we couldn’t move in to the new house at first and so my siblings and I were looked after by various relatives, so we didn’t go to school for about nine to ten days). The new school didn’t use journals at all. English class was boring. Grammar and sentence diagramming.

So I kept writing at home, almost on a daily basis in the beginning.

But I’ve been fairly inconsistent over the years. I filled several notebooks, all different sizes and shapes. I stopped writing in one notebook at some point in 1999 when I moved to Japan and started another one. Then some time in 2004 I decided it was a waste of paper not to finish the 1999 one. Then I filled it up and started typing in a Word file. Then I went to Montreal four years ago and started writing in paper notebooks again.

It’s, quite frankly, a great big mess.

But there are some good ideas in these notebooks, and lots and lots of bizarre poems that I swear I do not remember writing. (Also at least half a dozen attempts at “automatic writing.” If you don’t know what that is, look it up.)

So from time to time, I’ll post some bits and pieces here. Just for safe-keeping.

Who knows? I may wind up publishing some of it at some point. Or at least drop some of it into the mouths of future SciFi characters.

New (possibly) interstellar comet on a one-way trip…

Comet Nishimura’s orbit means that this is likely its first and final trip through the inner solar system. It is possible that the comet originated outside our star system, which would make it the third known interstellar object ever detected, following ‘Oumuamua — which some astronomers speculatively suggested was an alien spacecraft — and Comet 2I/Borisov. 

https://www.livescience.com/space/comets/new-potentially-interstellar-comet-will-be-visible-to-the-naked-eye-next-month-before-leaving-our-solar-system-forever

Discovered just two weeks ago by an amateur Japanese astronomer (after whom the comet is now named), the comet Nishimura will approach Earth at its closest on September 13th. But it will be at its brightest about five days later as it approaches the Sun.

Its fate?

Astronomers don’t know when the possible interstellar interloper will depart the solar system. However, it is also possible that the intense force of the comet’s solar slingshot will rip its solid nucleus apart, according to NASA. 

Also, its nucleus gives off a “green glow,” which is the result of sunlight breaking apart dicarbon, or diatomic carbon. So getcher geek on, chemical lab rats!

Chandrayaan-3 successfully lands on the Moon!

Taken just prior to landing…the “image” shown of it actually landing was not real but a simulation.

India and Russia had been locked in a race to the lunar south pole. The Luna-25 spacecraft that crashed was the first moon-landing spacecraft launched by Russia’s space agency in almost five decades. Roscosmos officials said Sunday they lost contact with the lander after it fired its engines in preparation for a descent to the surface.

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/world/india-chandrayaan-3-landing-moon-south-pole-rcna101296

It wasn’t much of a “race,” tbh. India had been planning this for years, while Russia randomly launched a craft that had virtually no chance of succeeding.

Congratulations, ISRO! You should have some company over the next couple of years. Here’s hoping that international cooperation and not competition will lead humanity to permanent settlements on the Moon. Mars, and beyond…