The Horrors of Conspiracy

Anyone who hasn't noticed the trend of inexcusably (and unapologetically) bad horror films over the past few years has either made one or is studying climate change in the Antarctic. That is a worthy cause, but I feel it is my duty to distract you from your studies to inform you of a growing conspiracy - one involving all levels of the horror film industry. Not that I actually believe this, but accept it for the moment.

I was very excited about the release of 28 Weeks Later, and, lo and behold, I wasn't disappointed. It was lyrical and beautiful; it strikes me as the sort of thing Pablo Picasso would have done if he was handed a camera and some fake blood. I was watching a horror picture, and I was enjoying myself. Such a feeling has been as distant and elusive as a desert horizon. Then I realized that I had sat through almost every horror movie that had slithered its way into a projector, where they would lay for a while, microscopic, parasitic and stagnant. Why was I so compelled to see them? It struck me: I was waiting for something like 28 Weeks Later. I had to be there when the cure for the common, torturous and misguided horror movie was discovered. I had to witness it in action before my eyes, eating away at a disease that has lingered in me since I stumbled into Cursed two years ago.

If everyone is like me (which, of course, they are), they would all be attentive and dedicated to the pursuit of a remedy; they would cough up their money in the name of charity and sit, watch, and wait. But that money went to no progressive charity - it supported the creation of snuff films with delusions of grandeur. Perhaps the horror movie market researchers misread the incoming revenues as signals of appreciation - dudes, WATCH the movies you fund (and keep your bloody eyes open). Then watch 28 Weeks Later, note the differences, and reformat your lives.

No Need for God (Pt. II)

I'll use a book that I've recently read to further illustrate my points about atheism. The Life of Pi, by Yann Martel, is a story about a spaztically religious man put in a situation beyond the scope of fiction: he is stuck on a small boat, face to face with a bengal tiger. This situation persists for upwards of 200 days. How did he survive? Was it through the mercy of one of the various deities he cried to in the darkest of nights; was it all of them, gathered hastily in a holy assembly to placate the wishes of a lonely man?

Many people find Pi's sandbox of religions interesting (which it is, for a fleeting moment). Then it becomes confusing - then frustrating - then idiotic. A militant atheist would see this man as the cannon, the ammunition and the wick, utilized to destroy the basis for religion in one fel swoop. I'll use him to further demonstrate the unimportance of deities and their dogmatism.

It is tangent to a miracle that the man was not eaten, until you take into account his actions that nestled themselves between his spiritual trampoline-ing and his enveloping loneliness. He seems to think he is perched to dismiss this middle-ground of rationality, but his rational and reasonable thoughts are actually the ones that are keeping him alive. He grew up under the wing of his father, a zookeeper. He was utilizing his knowledge of animals to stay the beast - a feat that is not impossible (needless to recommend, wander into any given circus). He is almost oblivious to the fact that he is conducting himself in this way, attributing his longevity to his skyward companions. It doesn't take much deconstruction to see that his beliefs are irrelevant to his survival - they are byproducts of an overactive human mind. Once again, God, and his buddies in this case, are useless.

No Need for God

To quote my 12th grade English teacher - why does everything in life have to be discombobulated for the pursuit of comprehension? Isn't there satisfaction to be found in being slightly oblivious to the inner workings of one's surroundings? Of course, there is no way to fully dissect things that are profound (or else they would not be profound), but to run from the idea of investigation for fear of uncovering something non-whimsical is silly and useless. Not only do moments of incredulity stem from moments of deep thought, but it is deep thought that plugs itself into these moments as a gift of life support (it is by the "guidance" of incredulity that people commonly come to a spiritual faith). To claim that chucking a mechanism of discerning thought to the wolves is a definitive practice of spirituality is ludicrous - at least to the spirituality that doesn't lead to verbal idiocy or physical confrontation.

The people in my immediate life that have subscribed to some type of organized religion or at least identify themselves as a certain type of spiritual person have come to reside in their predicaments as the victims of unresolved feelings. They see a lot of inexplicable beauty in the world, at least at first - they then provide the explanation that the beauty that they see is the masterpiece of a divine artist, with a human enough mind to know what a human would find beautiful (to hell with the rest of the animal kingdom!). There are a number of problems with this. From a personal standpoint, I find things of beauty in nature much less overwhelming when are the product of design. I find more beauty in natural occurrence; the blind watchmaker's engineering, if you will. I respect things for developing on their own. This is not to say that I don't respect a magnificent piece of art, like Guernica, but pieces of beauty derived from an intelligence should always be treated differently than pieces of natural beauty - and it is in natural beauty that spiritual people find their reinforcement. Sounds counter-intuitive, now, doesn't it?

If that isn't enough, the mathematics of it all enter to roll some marbles onto the dance floor. What are the chances that we simply occurred? What created life, the earth, the sun, and the universe? We've come to a world of numbers and unthinkable size. This is a territory that extends far beyond the range of our discourse, so it's a common misconception that both atheists and spirituals get as far as there is to go, then take a leap into the fog beyond, and make of it what they will. This activity is true of theists, but NOT of atheists. To be an atheist is to refrain from making any hasty movement one way or the other - and this is NOT a form of agnosticism. Agnosticism is stagnant despite incoming data; atheism runs its pace next to tangible truth. If provable truth stops to rest, so does the knowledge of atheists. Thus, it's arguable that the only leaps of faith are being taken by agnostics and theists. And faith produces nothing but superstition - and superstition is NEVER constructive. God is useless.

I'll stop it here to keep from rambling.

G'day!

I start this blog after a long quarrel between the inspiration of immediate-family bloggers and my notion that the only thing more inconsequential than other people's digitally rendered thoughts are my own digitally rendered thoughts. I'll initiate these writings under the premise that they are for my own amusement (it is a much more pleasant fiction that I am the solitary patron of a log ride, than to imagine it crowded and abused). I do enjoy any constructive type of correspondence, debate, arguments, shenanigans, jives, small palm trees and amorphous metaphors, so I am not a joyless borderline existentialist who would ignore all of your quippish derogation. I enjoy a good joust of words, so I implore you, present yourselves and charge.

In all likelihood, I will focus my posts on the themes of atheism, religion, evolution, ethics, hockey and food.

Be sure to check out my cousins' blogs -
www.myopicmanifesto.blogspot.com
www.lonepixel.com/johnm