Nelson Lowhim's Blog, page 114

Ah that fractal life

Well, thanks to Electric Lit for bringing this little interesting study into the light. In Poland, researchers found that many of the classics do indeed have fractal aspects to their writing (an example of science following art?—in terms of ). Very interesting findings. Of course here at my blog I already have a series that's fractal (as well as a piece about the author Algo who writes in the fractal manner), so it's nice to see something like this out there in the world. Not, of course, to say that I am the first to think in such a manner [1].

This fractal image as narrative comes across as closer to reality than the normal way of telling a story (no matter how used to the latter way we may be). I hope to accomplish my next novel in such a manner.
[1] Though this has given me a breakthrough in Romania, of all places, as the fractal story caught the eye of a professor there working on chaos theory in literature. Good times. So if you find me somewhere there, I want that tweeted.
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Spokane's interesting life and the man at the bus station

Some may think that the new town I've moved into, Spokane, is less interesting than my former stomping grounds in the Bronx. In some ways it is, but in other ways it exceeds that northernmost borough. Take the following story.
Last week I ran into a man at the bus stop in a dusty suit and a face meshed with wrinkles. His smell, that of a pungent unwashed sock, sat around him like a defense shield.
I'm not sure why I decided to talk to him. Perhaps it was a look... that look whereupon one senses that another human being has the same view of the world that you do. The man claimed to be looking for a certain bus. The number he gave was much too high to exist in any city, let alone this one, so I leaned away from him, an undercurrent in me bristling at the potential craziness dwelling in this man.
This movement of mine pulled out a torrent of words from the man's mouth. He claimed that the bus was in fact real and he had to get home, for he missed it dearly. It was, the most honest place in the world, he claimed. So honest that everyone there spoke no language at all. Instead they spoke in gibberish since their honesty allowed them to spoke through body language. I didn't believe and so he went on:
As a teen the man had seen a smuggled movie from our world and wanted to speak, despite the please of his elders and so he came here to learn. And learn to speak he did, but in the process he was swindled out of everything he owned since he was so honest. I told him I'd keep an eye out for the bus. He said that some money would be better and he let out a sigh. I gave him all my change and he shuffled off muttering something about this devil's world and how it was to each by his greed and from each by his gullibility and if only he had known this before leaving his paradise on earth. 
I'm not sure what he was talking about, but I try to give him change everyday.
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Canticle for Leibowitz: the Detritus of Empires (spoiler alert)

 Canticle for Leibowitz was a surprisingly good read and stands as one of my all time favorite Sci-fi novels. [1] I didn't pick up the book expecting much of it, for it was written about a time when fears of a nuclear holocaust hung heavy above the population of the world. Only after reading it did I see that it still applies to our time. [2]

In the start of the book, there's a monk who lives in the detritus of a civilization after a nuclear war has taken everything down. I'm not going to give away too much, but the book focuses on what the monks have saved in terms of information from the previous civilization and are holding on to it as a beacon of light. The book then goes on hundreds and thousands of years in the future as humanity rebuilds itself to what it once was: a civilization with many of the technological advances as before. 
This gets me to the issue of what would our detritus be, should such an event occur, for any surviving humanity. [3] So much of what we have is on computers, that should that be found by some future humanity, one wonders if they would make any use of it. Would they be capable of building a future on that? What about our garbage, of which there will be much?
It's an interesting act to try to break down what we value today and see what will survive, to say nothing of what the future will find valuable. Now when I go through any museum I think of this very matter: that perhaps what has survived tells little about them, even though we may think it shows a lot (that which we have in common, if we take surviving art as one example). To point out this material bias is something of a platitude, but is still can evoke some thought. 
Of course, I'm thinking now more as a writer than anything, but what would survive of us into the future? And would it be something that says much about us?


[1] That link goes to my all time most viewed post. A listicle with my favorite scifi novels and though I enjoy it, it goes to show how popular such lists are. Not to say that breaking down any essay into lists of some sort isn't a good idea.
[2] Though there is some level of hagiography for the Catholic Church, the book is still worthwhile for the other ideas it brings up.
[3] In many ways, this is similar to the case of needing to have signs and structures around a radioactive dump site that would be capable of speaking to humanity not culturally connected to us.
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On Orwell, intellectual love for authority, and today's world

For any of you who have read Orwell's fiction, such as 1984 and Animal Farm , but have yet to read his non-fiction, I highly recommend that you start as soon as you're capable. His longer pieces are must-reads [1], but if you're lacking time, as is the state of homo-economicus (or its striving), then take a dabble at a few of his essay collections. I recommend this fat book of post 1945 essays as well as the one with a provocative title: All Art is Propaganda . You can move through the books and read the essays that interest you (the latter one being better, as it has fewer to choose from) whenever you have the time.
Nevertheless, it's still a surprise to hear many of these lefties express some sort of desire for an authority figure in the middle east. That this is covered by some odd need to appear concerned for the inhabitants of the region (while never bothering to ask those inhabitants what they wanted) is odd enough, but not as bad as the fact that it is asking for a particular kind of evil in the world without asking about the consequences—yet again. 
Nor does it occur to them to step back and try to understand the situation or figure out what went wrong. I expect this from the right and those who will gain some monetary benefit from unneeded military action, I do not from those who are examining this from an exclusively intellectual viewpoint [4]. 
It would appear that Orwell dealt with the same thing and dismissed these people (those who would side with the Nazis or the Bolsheviks... you know, before their atrocities were known) as those whose views are merely bending to the newest power [5]. And I see it today as people demand shows of force over thoughtful analysis.
But there is a growing movement against that. Those in the Black Lives Matter movement stand as a great case in point, domestically speaking. Meanwhile, for overseas matters, our mainstream media may not like it but they are being forced to confront the messy consequences of our foreign policy by those on the ground and by people like Glenn Greenwald over at The Intercept. This is the true ideal of a liberal: to be scrutinize any master, to effectively analyze power structures (or institutions) and what they do for the betterment of all the people. Orwell would be proud.

[1] Homage to Catalonia being one must read. In it you can see Orwell's disillusionment with the Stalinist machine in Spain as it crushes the nascent Anarchist movement there. Good stuff, even if you do have to get past a lot of acronyms to truly understand it. It even serves as a good starting point for Chomsky's "Responsibility of Intellectuals" essay—another classic at that. That being said, it's interesting to see conservatives or near-neocons using Orwell as a battering ram against the left (nothing new, this, I remember being part of the conservative movement and how MLK was evoked against affirmative action.... revisionism at its best). Orwell was a socialist, and remained so until the end. 
[2] Same reason I love James Baldwin's work.
[3] Or what is considered the mainstream left (the less said about those who claim the middle ground as some fundamental belief, the better) here in the USofA. As for the right, at least most of them openly acknowledge a love for certain forms of power, thus they can at least be shielded from calls of hypocrisy. Thus the case of Putin or how China runs over the concerns of its citizens, those on the right easily fall (or are jealous of) for such displays of power because that's part of their ideology (funny then that they then cloak it with "Americanism" or their odd brand of it).
[4] Though I suppose for those on TV a shows, intellectualism is more of an act than anything else. 
[5] I'm not saying that this reaction does not serve an evolutionary function of survival and simply trying to ride the coattails of the power to some decent position in society yourself. I'm only saying that it's not intellectual.
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The State of Writing Today (on Fiction)

This is an attempt to look at the state of writing today. As a writer of fiction, I suppose I should do this more often—in the monetary sense, that is. But let me not speak of the market (for short stories or novels) and let me speak of the state of the art. Contemporary fiction and its ability to move me. [1]Now, if you've read some of my previous work, you would know that I take a grim view of books or authors who have been given a prize. My main point being that it has nothing to do with timelessness, even though prizes usually pretend to be above the fray of the market given prize. [2] In fact, the entire literary genre seems to be based on trying to be above the fray, and yet feels as contrived [3] as any other book from the "lesser genres", to say nothing of the better books of those lesser genres.

One person who agrees on this matter of contemporary literary writing being below the mark is BR Meyers, in his infamous Reader's Manifesto. In that long, and dare I say brilliant, rant, Meyers tips a few of the sacred cows from the literary clubhouse. Though at times he seems to go overboard, it does seem that the prizes go to those who act literary, have the talent to paint beautiful descriptions, and yet don't challenge anything in the status quo, or probe deeply into life.[4]
Even Dissent Magazine has an interesting view of the "boring literature", though I'm not entirely sure that a welfare state would work to help it out. In fact, I'm one of the few people who still thinks that the e-publishing wave will yet produce some great works of fiction [5]. So on that point I'm hopeful. Yet I still look to the writers of today to produce something that will more than just be well crafted and will instead be thought-provoking. I personally have not found many such works and even this list seems lacking at times [6]. But I could have missed that great book. Anyone out there have a great piece from the past 20 years they'd like to share?

[1] So then this is an entirely idiosyncratic analysis and has little bearing on what others think—it's a blog, what do you expect?—though I will do my best at confirmation bias and look for my points being agreed with by others. But I do think a book that moves someone on a point other than simple emotion is a great example of timelessness.
[2] In the sense that almost all prizes think of the biggest best sellers as not worthy of the only prize—a fair judgement—but can't find books that actually matter in the long term. So in other words, they're simply applying a slightly different (perhaps elite) set of judgements not much different from what the "mob" set in buying certain books en mass. 
[3] My main gripe with many books that are touted as deep is that they don't seem it at all. Perhaps it's all above my head, but many seem to tackle philosophical questions I remember in high school or freshman year college, and hardly even try to look deeply into the societal ailments of the day. Again, sometimes I feel like I'm certainly missing something, but such is my feeling when I look over the current array of literary (ostensibly "deep") writing.
[4] Again, at best these try to exhibit a few known arguments on the left and right and tell us the cure is to retreat into some private world or succumb and thus it pretends to offer some weary, worldly nihilism whereupon it's simply better to disengage and hide out in a nice house (or be nice to one person in your life) than to engage the world with its tough questions. As Terry Eagleton says, this is little more than a convenient suburban ideology... one that is shallow at best. 
[5] Convenient, I know, being that I'm a benefactor of said wave. But bear with me. Again, I don't mean a bestseller, but rather something that will win out over time as a truly deep piece of fiction.

[6] Even now as I scan the list, I'm thinking that they won't survive long—not in my mind, not in my heart—and that even the likes of 2666 , a book I want to read again, is more confusing nihilism than anything. Of course, I don't mean to belabor the point, as I tend to get lost down that post-modern rabbit hole and simply think that predicting any one book's longevity is a matter of sniffing the winds of power and change in power and trying to predict which power in the future will like which books... or perhaps it's simply a melancholy Friday night? But I digress... for this brings me to my writing: Am I that much better? I try to be, but perhaps I'm failing as much as anyone.

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Short stories and more listings for Labyrinth of Souls

Before I start, let me note that I have a site where I'll put up my shorts . It's easier to read, and you can, from here on out, give a little bit of change without too many hassles. 

Again I've been remiss about updating you readers with the next book. Sorry about that. Things have been hectic here and I'm busy starting the next novel (with a few too many false starts and crumpled papers—note that I've taken to following Baldwin in these terms, taken to writing out before I type) though that hasn't been as fruitful as I may want it to be. After every novel there is a refractory period, but this one seems to be lasting a little too long. 


I've also started reading Satanic Verses by Rushdie. A beautiful book, this, even if it's more well-known for its controversy (and the 50 people who died for it). Sad, that piece of history, because I'm thoroughly enjoying the book. I should note that I'm enjoying it much more than Midnight's Children , that book based on India's Independence and is a showcase for Rushdie's skill to draw a picture with words. A bit too much, if you ask me, for though it illustrates a beautiful world (that description to the Red Fort might be one of the best ever), it struck me as shallower than it should have been [2] and left me wanting more.
That more comes in the form of this book. It's painting a tough picture, but it's painting it well, and I want to see where it goes. So there you have it. A good book to read, if you have the time and inclination. I should also note that Rushdie's current politics and his grandstanding on shows such as Maher's also left a bad taste in my mouth. [3] But I'm glad I decided to ignore that and read his other book.
Where that leaves my readers, however, remains to be seen. That next novel seems to be retreating a little like the false peaks when climbing a mountain. In the meantime the small steps I'm taking, take the form of a a plethora of short stories. This means that I'm again banging down the wrong door, as shorts don't tend to sell well. So it goes. But this is also me trying out a new voice that will sustain itself for an entire novel. Thoughts? I know some of you have said that the new shorts have been a great improvement. What about the rest of you?
[1] I will add all the necessary links as this will be shared in more than one place. 
[2] A funny moment came when, in a moment of borderline fury, I told a cousin of mine that it was a an ode to suburban ideologies, (even if they were cosmopolitan suburban ideologies) and her response was "oh my". Better to hear others attribute this reaction of mine to jealousy, which it could very well be, though I doubt it. 
[3] This probably says more about me than Rushdie. I still care nothing for Rushdie's views on fundamentalist Islam or terrorism (the non-state kind), though I can see now that TV and interviews in general do not have enough time for nuance from anyone. I also see that matters such as writing fiction are not entirely under the author's control, whatever Franzen may try to say on the matter. So, I will try to judge people less and less by these mediums and more by what they write. For example with Franzen's interviews, he's easy to pick on. Meanwhile, his essays still leave much to be desired.  


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That Internet Show

“Earthly Show” was hosted by a woman who looked and talked smarter than anyone I knew. Add to that a spherical shape, sharp ear lobes and a grin of steel teeth and it was no wonder that she was relegated to the nether regions of the internet. One had to wonder how such a person was even allowed something equivalent to a TV show. Could be that those shining teeth, that hair with steel barbs, and the face tattoo highlighted with glitter specks were indeed a draw. Death bait, she called herself. And I’d seen her show, mind; one that was short-lived. It was an experiment in interviewing all the great authors alive. But she would never interview them sober: that would only show their conscious side, and she was certain that writing was not a conscious effort—not with the best kind of literature, at least. No, it was a subconscious effort, one where the author was able to channel all of mankind’s wishes and fears, and it was her job to get an interview with that person’s subconscious. 

At first that meant getting the author drunk, but she gave up on that and soon was having peyote moments with them in the desert or sweat lodges around the world. The peyote, in her view (and mine as well), worked as a better porthole to the unconsciousness. Of course she wasn’t entirely certain and kept making different drug cocktails. I should note that she didn’t always tell the authors that they had been slipped a drug.

As you can imagine, this didn’t last. Despite her large ratings she was duly cutoff from the major streaming channels. Rumors flew. Her name was used in several investigations on authors recently dead. She fled from authorities when an author claimed that she abused him while he was high, that the things he said were not what he would say. Of course, being that he said those things, how could he argue? But the law as a very conscious actor element to it and so it cannot brook any attempt to open that gateway. The law sent the DEA on her. The damage, they claimed, that she did to writing workshops across the country was nothing to trifle with. Easily influenced teens and college aged kids were showing up to serious workshops high as kites, and destroying that staid process.

Nothing was heard from the woman for quite some time. She was in some country without an extradition treaty with America. Then she came out with another show. No one was sure if it could be trusted or if the authorities had gotten to her and forced her to make propaganda for them, to undo the damage they claimed she had inflicted.

The new show was about looking for evil in the world. The show was popular here when it focused on the penumbra of war zones of dark-skinned people. But when she ventured near Western shores or the pet projects of our powers that be, she was shut down. I couldn’t (and can't) find a single video anywhere. Some claim that when she was overseas she had managed to be even-handed, but when she came near here, she became radicalized. So it goes, I suppose. Still looking for those shows, though. The one with the authors, I miss the most.  [1]
[1] Suppose, if I can be pedantic here, that I truly like the fact that writing is not entirely a conscious effort and that I have been quick to jump on other interviews, when the author says something I believe to be silly and I apply that to their books as well. Yet when writing I know that it's more than just a conscious act. In fact, even if I look at my interviews, here and here,  I know all the parts of the mind involved are not necessarily the same as when I write.
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MLK: the man, the legend.

On this great day, let us not forget exactly who MLK was. He was not what the mainstream media portrays him [1] to be and certainly not what the vast majority of people think he is [2]. This isn't exactly a conspiracy. If you're so inclined simply read his speeches, especially his speeches from the later part of his life. My favorite one is "I've been to the Mountaintop". A haunting speech. Or read his speech on the Vietnam War. Thus I'm glad that twitter has a #reclaimMLK hashtag to point out to all that MLK had a radical legacy [3].

So celebrate the day, but don't celebrate a Disneyland version that never existed. Also know that the main powers now who try to dress themselves in their version of MLK's legacy do so to cover their actions—actions that MLK would surely be denouncing. So when the authorities are tapping and using surveillance against Black Lives Matter, they do so after having done the same to MLK. It's the legacy of unchecked power. When the FBI and others use terms like "national security threat", remember that they thought MLK to be just that. So don't just swallow such claims without thinking. 
Enjoy the day, but try not to forget what it really means: unfinished business and a moment to think on the legacy that MLK would truly want. Go ahead, read those speeches. MLK was one of the greatest men of the 20th century. But don't let the mainstream narrative define your view of him. Read as much original source as you can.


[1] Now. The mainstream media then vilified him when they could, and now they try to use a revisionist view of him to pedal whatever middle of the road tripe they're going for. Note that when people try to bludgeon Black Lives Matters (as being too loud or not doing anything the right way, or not being charismatic enough) with MLK's legacy, they know what they're doing and they're trying to change history for their own benefit. Civil rights movements like Black Lives Matter are very important and before and during MLK's time there were many other such civil rights movements meant to disrupt and bring attention to an issue. Also, one must not forget MLK's radical views on war and America's economic system.
[2] Judging by the tripe comments on reddit and other places that disparage groups like Black Lives Matter, I find it easy to think of them as descendants who would have poo-pooed the diner sit-ins as rabble rousing (remember there are many in the South and around the country who still think that this was an overreach of government, that private businesses should be able to discriminate as they please). 
[3] Indeed, towards the end of his life, MLK came to see more of what Malcolm X was saying about the powers in America and its actions overseas.

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Lowhim Smackdown Alert update

 I started the Smackdown alert a year ago or so. So I've gone on and updated the original post. There have been a few more eloquent smackdowns since then, enjoy them all. Also, I've also been working on several different short story collections and will hopefully put them out in the coming year. A novel doesn't look likely until at least the summer. I apologize for that, but time is becoming harder and harder to find these days.
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Lost in Spokane, a movie festival review

It's a funny thing when one gets lost on their daily commute. I have an excuse, though, for it was late at night and those infernal white crystals were being spit at me from the heavens, quieting the earth, my car wheels crunching over their accumulations upon the road, the world weighed down as I drove back home. I arrived at an intersection which was blocked and I followed the detour sign. But soon the signs were gone and I found myself in a desolate industrial park.

Still not thinking much of it, I turned, heading in the direction of city lights. But the road twisted and curved and and soon I found myself in a depression, the ground rising up steeply the dark underbellies of overpasses hiding cackling and strange movements that had me locking all my doors.
I stopped at a dead end filled with tents pitched and fires blazing. Instead of backing out, I stopped. There were quite a few people milling about, but now there was a frantic energy as they started to move in a specific direction. 
I did turn my car around, but only to prepare for a potential escape. I followed the crowd. Into a tunnel we went, the smell of wet cement hanging strong in the air and mixing in with the smoke. On the sides were couple and groups whispering to each other; some had glowing eyeballs and all stared at me as I walked past. I could feel that I was a foreign element here. I just couldn't tell if they were going to eliminate me or not. Nevertheless, heart pounding, I walked through their hostility, that cold air, and the marijuana smoke and dirty skin aroma now dominating my olfactory senses.
I finally came to a hall where everyone was gathered around centered stage. A man and a woman, both with Medusa-hair, introduced a story, then melted into the crowd. A cubic screen dropped from the ceiling and soon a moving picture sputtered on. I leaned in to the silk-screen of a tattooed girl next to me and asked what this was. movie festival night, Spokane's own grassroots one apparently.
The first short was a few minutes long, shoddily made, but with enough tension to pull me in before it was cut short: a dreaded boy looks over Spokane's riverfront. People mill about. The boy sees an object of his affection, he makes to go after her. The movie stops to the sound of a gunshot. 
The next two were no better and I thought about leaving; the glances from those around me were turning overtly hostile. Nevertheless, I waited for one more. 
This one started out with a boy in a small town. The boy runs about, pulls off pranks. The older people like him so they don't say or do much besides smile at him. In general the boy does as he's told, so there's no real friction. At one point he comes to a tree and asks a passing adult why no one seems to eat the fruit off it. Poisoned, is the reply. The boy walks on. 
He grows, the boy, and a young man now, he overhears some adults talking about the tree, arguing that the tree isn't poisonous, but only kills the spirit in all and the village, as per the last time, is forced to cleanse itself for it poisons the entire village. The old man arguing against the other adults, on the side of it not being actually poisonous, is mocked. The next day the young man asks his parents about the tree and they tell him never to mention it again. 
His curiosity piqued, he walks to the tree late at night and eats its fruit. Nothing happens. Soon a famine descends upon the land and the village is at a loss for a reason. Soon a finger points at the young man.
Before a court he's dragged and he admits to the fruit eating, but lays no claim to the famine. They say it was the fruit that caused the famine. He states it's a myth. They ask how he could know. He couldn't he admitted. And so he says that it isn't the fruit but them. Of course blaming the village is a sign of a broken spirit and so the he stood guilty on all counts and was bled dry to cleanse their poison. End of movie.
At this point I could feel my heart beating fast in my chest, though I wasn't exactly sure why the movie had affected me so. I looked up and noticed that almost everyone was staring at me, moving towards me. 
I ran, heart in mouth. Yells and projectiles flew my way, but I made it to my car unscathed. Soon I was driving back to freedom and the normalcy of well-lit streets. but that movie, that movie festival, it still sticks with me.
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