[hat tip to Robin]

Until last Saturday night, my MOABE had remained untouched since September 27, 2008. Instead, I pretty much mainlined World of Warcraft (WOW) through the entire month of October. Finally, I reached what I wanted to call “saity;” i.e., the point of being sated. I conducted a number of searches, but found no such word. I tried a few spelling variations. For instance, an Encarta search for “satity” takes one to the entry for “satori.” (A synchronous occurrence as I am at present intrigued by the proposition that Hamlet can be read as Our Hero’s journey to satori. The rest, after all, is silence.) I finally found the sought-for word, “satiety,” which brings us back on task.

Saturday night I played WOW to satiety, and actually turned my attention to non-WOW things. (A promising development in my addiction process). I wrote a bit in the MOABE, started a new book, and even played a different computer game.

Sunday morning I awoke to a brainstorm. Thoughts flashed like lightening and boomed like thunder. I started to pay attention and realized my brain was channeling stuff related to The First Voice a/k/a My Unfinished Novel. At present, I’m stalled in the middle of Chapter 15 with Johanna explaining the importance of memes to Elfredge. For those who find themselves asking “who’s Johanna,” or “who’s Elfredge,” I leave it to you to peruse my other blog entries for answers to these, and other, questions that may arise while reading this entry. Please note the search feature in the upper right directly below the Walking Raven. I realize I am being a lazy writer, but that’s just the way it is. By way of introduction, I will, however, supply you with Encarta’s definition for “meme” which reads “any characteristic of a culture, e.g. its language, that can be transmitted from one generation to the next in a way analogous to the transmission of genetic information.” Memes can also be images or music. I suppose a meme in its purest form is some sort of mathematical expresses ion.

And with that, here follows a distillation of the thoughts that flooded my brain last Sunday morning as I waited for the leftover coffee to heat in the microwave. Before the Big Bang which many scientists believe marks the beginning of this universe, there existed a singularity. The “spark” that set off the Big Bang caused this singularity’s three visible dimensions to fuse with the fourth, thereby creating spacetime, or what we call real time, which in turn set up the determination we now refer to as the expanding universe. What if, I asked myself on Sunday Morning, before the Big Bang, the singularity was comprised solely of dark energy strings? And what if the universe began because one of the dark energy strings morphed into a meme which turned out to be the first bit of visible energy? In other words, “Let there be light.” Or, if you prefer, “In the beginning was the Word.” I have read it is difficult, if not impossible, to explain light. I have also read no one can really explain the mind, or where or what the mind is.

Understanding “self” is a bit easier. According to Andrew Newberg in his book Why God Won’t Go Away, our brain contains a highly specialized bundle of neurons known as the posterior superior parietal lobe. Newberg renames it the Orientation Association Area (“OAA”). He goes on to explains the OAA actually consists of two areas, “the left orientation area creates the brains spatial sense of self, while the right side creates the physical space in which that self can exist.”

I have a keen sense of my OAA. Ever since I can remember, I have imagined a small Mini-Me that stands before a control panel just behind my forehead. Over my lifetime, this Mini-Me has had various names. These days I refer to her as “Tink,” as in, yes, Tinky Winky, the large purple Teletubbie. I have created an avatar of Tink as one of my WOW characters. As you can see below, she is neither large, nor purple. Rather, she is a Gnome Mage Engineer. (And yes, for you Halo fans, she’s a bit Cortana-esque.)

Also, I confess I started out my WOW career with visions of grandeur. Tink is a few avatars down the character list. The Night Elf Hunter Walkingraven (see below) is my second creation:

In case you are wondering, the cat figure next to him is his pet, Jensen. But enough. Tink is my mind, my consciousness, my self (sic). Tink looks out through my eyes. She looks in with the third, inner, eye.

My OAA is the seat of my imagination where I go to convert memes into thoughts which I can then endeavor to communicate to the rest of the world. If the same meme comes from enough people it becomes a piece of our culture. I’m writing this particular paragraph on Election Day morning, so I offer the following example of meme-travel. Last week, a friend came over, whipped out her wallet, and pointed to a red, white, and blue sticker that read, “I voted.” To me, however, she exclaimed, “Look! I Obamaed!”

I’d like to think this effort to communicate goes somewhat beyond the 100 monkeys’ scenario, but who knows. The survival value of intelligence with respect to evolution remains to be seen. But even if the human race is just a blip on the spacetime continuum, I believe we have a duty to contribute to the memes of the universe.

One way I fulfill this duty is by opening my moonroof and playing CDs of poetry, letting the words waft up into the sky. Each read, written, or spoken word frees a meme. Creative activity creates new memes. Without memes, spacetime will revert back to a dark singularity. At least I think that’s in part what Michael Ende wants to convey in the German fantasy novel The Neverending Story. Those of you who have read this incredible book will recall it begins with the inhabitants of Fantastica (Phantásien in the German version) seeking guidance from the Childlike Empress as to how to stop the Nothing from devouring their world. The Childlike Empress reveals that the only thing that will keep the Nothing at bay is to find a human child who will give her a new name. Naming creates reality in the sense that naming defines an object and calls it forth from the rest of the material soup. As explained by another character in the book, Grograman, the Many Colored Death, “beginning at the moment when you gave [something] its name it has existed forever.” Ultimately, The Neverending Story shows the importance of stories, or perhaps more accurately, imagination, in regard to existence.

Similarly, in the final pages of The Amber Spyglass, volume three of Philip Pullman’s wonderful His Dark Materials trilogy, inhabitants of the multiverse are admonished by Lord Asriel to continue to tell the stories.

As I noted above, the Big Bang marked the beginning of time. It comes as no surprise then that my brainstorm ended with a revelation as to the meaning of that first meme. The English translation reads “Once upon a time . . .”

How many of us
Would simply

Let our virgin child live,
Stay hidden among the women,
Remain celibate,

Kick the bum out,
Marry the first suitable suitor,
Leave the brother’s body to the dogs,

Stay with Circe,
Stay with Dido,
Stay in the Shire?

cko
10/18/2008

Some of you know I’ve been spending the last couple weeks writing a post whose working title is “Mother of All Blog Entries” in between fighting my massive addiction to that massively multiplayer online game (“MMOG”) World of Warcraft (“WOW”)with The Burning Crusade extension — me and 10 to 11 million other monthly subscription players worldwide. (I used to have a postcard on my bulletin board that read “400,000 heroin addicts can’t be all wrong.” I suppose on some level that remains to be seen, but I’m more or less betting it doesn’t really matter one way or the other in the; i.e., my, “grand scheme of things.” [And for those of you who just rolled your eyes, clichés are hardwired into my DNA, so deal. Besides, when you think about it, they are an excellent “common-denominator” communication device even though I know many of you would begin that phrase with the word “lowest.” In this case, untrue. The qualifier “at the end of the day,” is the lowest common-denominator for communicating the particular sentiment expressed above. I suppose I could have said, “in the grand scheme of Indra’s Net.” Show of hands, how many of you have I lost with what some might consider an obscure reference? How many of you just think I’m being affected? How many prefer “in the long run?” Okay, enough.]

Yesterday, I had the following early morning Instant Message (“IM”) exchange with one of my most preferred human s (“ph”) who will know who s/he is when s/he reads it:

Me (6:41:58 AM): [M]aybe the Matrix [movie] is right. [W]e play video games to manufacture energy for [the inhabitants of] another universe and they decided to at least make it pleasant for us.
ph[d](6:42:51 AM): [O]r maybe you’re just using it to keep away from your own real feelings and to keep from interacting with other living human beings[.]
Me (6:43:28 AM): [N]o, [I]‘m following the natural law of physics. [A]ll things being equal, [an object will follow] the path of least resistance. . . .
Me (6:44:39 AM): [I]t’s easier to play WOW than read. [I]it’s easier to read than write.

Some of you may have had encountered me in the throes of my initial infatuation with WOW. I confess. I was rude. I kept playing while we talked, and for that I apologize. That said, the idea I am playing WOW to avoid feeling or interacting with other humans is, at least in my reality, (almost) ironic. “Almost,” because, as I stated in an earlier entry on this same subject, I am an off-the-chart introvert. See December 8, 2007 Entry. [And speaking of irony, I note I posted that entry on the third day of a prednisone burst.] Perhaps in the minds of those of you who read my earlier entry, you misunderstood me, thinking I meant I really didn’t want to talk to any of you. If so, that was a failure to communicate on my part. [And a “shout out” to another buddy who, after reading my earlier post was prompted to call me on Skype to have voice contact rather than send an email while traveling outside the country.] [See, I’m watching the Democratic Convention. A new meme, “shout out,” has gone national. Thanks, Barack.][Okay, show of hands, now how many of you have I lost? Screw it, I’m just going to write, and let the chips fall where they may.] [Oops, there I go again.]

Before our friend Myra died, she and Darcy would periodically call each other and talk for seemingly hours. When asked later what they had talked about, Darcy would invariably answer, “Green grapes,” her metaphor for the everyday stuff, places gone and people seen. She came up with the expression after seeing the following New Yorker cartoon:

The caption reads: “On my way home today on the bus, a lone grape rolled down the aisle and came to rest near my feet. It was pale green and looked to be of the seedless variety.”

Unlike Darcy and Myra, I am Green grapes-impaired. When I was practicing law I consciously had to remind myself to begin a telephone conversation with “Hi, how are you? How are the spouse, pets, kids?” Often though, I would screw up and just dive right into the business at hand. I think I got better over the years, but if I’m in a social situation with a lot of people I don’t know, I still have trouble coming up with things to talk about. So, for me, food and the weather, not so much. Movies and books, better, much better. Discussions about a subject du jour, free will, predestination, the nature of karma, the Islamic version of the second coming of Christ, the meaning of life, the fear (or not) of death. Even better.

I’ll also confess to being empathy-impaired. I was fascinated to learn, well into my 20s, that some people, when they tell me, for example, “I have a headache,” don’t want to hear “Well, have you taken aspirin? Do you need to call the doctor?” More often than not, they don’t want the perceived problem solved, they just want me to acknowledge their pain or frustration or whatever. I still tend to miss those signals, but learning, and employing, the expression, “Poor, baby,” when I think of it has been invaluable.

For the record, though, I am still, and will always be, a recovering attorney. I do like to argue, and I like to win. Perhaps the least understood aspect of the practice of law is that law is based on the precept that one side wins and one side loses. Ultimately, a decision must be made. Good attorneys, and I was a good attorney, must find the winning argument, based on the facts and the law, no matter which side one takes. That’s why so many attorneys invariably preface any answer to a question with the infuriating quip, “It depends.” That’s because law, like physics, adheres to the special principle of relativity; i.e., before one can apply the law, one must create an inert situation by establishing the facts. Juries are known as fact-finders. Judges are the law-givers.

Here’s a classic law school illustration: 99 nuns swear under oath the light was red. A witness, known by the jury to have previously been incarcerated for committing perjury and to have been paid a large sum of money by the present defendant to testify the light was green, swears under oath the light was green. If the jury believes the perjurer, well, the light was green. And it’s the attorney who is charged with the task on behalf of his client, the defendant, to convince the jury to believe the perjurer. [Show of hands, how many of you have just thought, "If the gloves don't fit, you must acquit?"]

I hope the above somewhat explains the overzealousness I sometimes exhibit over something that really doesn’t matter, oh, let’s use “in the long run,” this time. On another day, I might agree with your position or decide it’s not worth fighting over. But for today, it’s the hunt. The smell of fear and blood. (My fear, my blood, too, remember.) So cut me a deal and don’t take things so personally, okay?

There are other times though I would like to have what could be characterized as a serious discussion. To experience the intimacy of communication and understanding. And it’s those times I regret my adversarial ways because well, these ways get in the way. Perhaps my major regret in this life is to have done (and still do) whatever it is that prevents this level of communication. So, there you have it.

I don’t get out much anymore and planned events get cancelled for health reasons as often, if not more often, as they happen, but if you’re ever in the neighborhood feel free to come on by. No pressure. Be it for green grapes, debate, or to climb into Kerouac’s bathtub (metaphorically speaking, and fully clothed, of course), you’ll be welcome. I’ll even try to remember my manners, and at some point ask if you want something to drink. But if you don’t want to wait for that to happen, please feel free to wander into the kitchen and help yourself.

cko
8/23/2008

Saxon
News Flash!

cko
08/17/08

a) I’m not dead yet.
b) I’m not dead, yet.
c) I’m not dead . . . yet.
d) I’m not dead. Yet.
e) I’m not dead; yet.
f) I’m not dead yet?
g) I’m not dead yet!

cko
7/28/08

cko
July 5, 2005