Tuesday, 15 August 2017

The American Quintet 2: Is Thunder a Colour?

An emotion, or an image?
These thoughts go through my head a scrimage
as I debark from the car.
Blazing intensity, near to far past far.
And only one thought rumbles in my head:

Is thunder a colour?

Twisting neon worms tumble upon stormy slates,
their souls long gone and dead
as gnashing teeth, ads, devoured and ate.
Buy, buy, buy; the message, unhidden by no mask,
and yet again I ask:

Is thunder a colour?

This bright Ouroboros tumbles across the sky,
their voices a muffled scream.
Deadening, deafening, a rowdy ream
of silent shouts that alight frenziedly on the eyes.
It is a filthy light, a corruptor;
but yes, I think thunder is a colour.

(credit to the omnipresence of advertisements: indeed. given that this is easily a contender for the worst poem I have ever written, and will not even be credited as such in my tags, it is a most fitting ode to those filthy beasts)

Monday, 31 July 2017

The American Quintet 1: Pitch Bright

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some time ago I was in the USA for a five days, and took the opportunity to write one poem for every day I was there, each one concerning the most vivid memory I had of that particular day. I hope you enjoy, as always.

In dark of dust murmurs fling through,
the sky wringing sighs of anxious gloom.
Voices excited and light, an audience's might,
not quite Stygian in the virgin twilight.
And then the black broke,
not with shout, not corak,
but rather upon the wings of tunes;
a simple, slow, yet melodious croon.
And the gloom alights with mirth,
audience jazzing, soul rebirth.
And a sonar sun lifts the veil of night
until that shadowy room feels... pitch bright.

(credit to the Apollo Theatre's Amateur Night)

Thursday, 22 June 2017

At the Crux of the Matter

Hey all, sorry for the absence. I was just off finishing high school. Now that it's done I'd like to share with you my first ever script, an abomination I sumitted to some nearby contest back in March. Surprise: I didn't win. That being said it's in the exact style of humour that you guys normally appreciate, so I'd like to think you'll like it.
At the Crux of the Matter; by Jordan Waverman

In other news, starting this Sunday I'm going to institute a series of fake historical accounts of fictitious cults. Each one will include a brief description of the cult, as well as a short story involving it. This will be done mostly for amusement purposes, but please feel free to contact me if you find anything offensive for any reason.
 My email, as always, is muffinwaverman@gmail.com, or you can message me on Facebook at facebook.com/jordanwaverman.

Thursday, 8 June 2017

Review of "History... In Action!"

Hello all,
And now it is that rather special time of year when I review a video. Nevermind that I have never done this before, will not do this again, and indeed would not be doing this now were it not for the fact that I have undertaken a rather grueling school assignment which is forcing me to create a review for said movie, which I'm sure will be uploaded to a blog like this one quite shortly. Exactly like this one, in fact. Eerily like this one... Spooky.
Now, I'm here today to review the short film History... In Action!, a rather exciting little skit about all the amazing new shows on the world's most accurate, well-researched, and useful television channel... the History Channel.
Speaking with illustrious diction written primarily by yours truly, the various expert actors sing their fair tunes up to the heavens, weaving an often illusory web that sometimes seems almost to defy laughter, it is so complex. Or, perchance, defies this laughter because of its often intransigent sense of what should be funny, and what should be best left beneath the dark, dank depths of the megalodon-haunted stormy seas.
The dialogue is frequently scratchy, like some fell, clawed beast trying to drag its way out of the pit and into absurdity, though this aim is frequently denied by random shift changes and poor special effects.
The latter of these two admittedly somewhat floccnaucinihilipificates the entirety of the skit, miring it in a sticky swamp of languorous words that trail limply through the video like rowboats.
Insofar as I am concerned, however, it was writ of wry wit, and its dry humour crackles softly in the paper of its plot. Therefore it must, by all needs be, be given a solid i/4, which all things considered is a fairly good score for a movie of its lacklustre caliber.

Wednesday, 31 May 2017

Occam's Ninja (essay)

Perchance you have heard of Occam’s Razor, perchance you haven’t. Regardless, I find it most key to define it, and so shall do so forthwith: assume the most probable.
    So, if you’re studying the pyramids and notice that the images resemble purported alien life from the Yucatan; then yes there’s a chance that the Anunnaki built the pyramids, but the chances are far and above more likely that they were built by humans, so you should assume that.
    Needless to say, I mislike Occam’s Razor. I mislike it precisely because of its highly presumptive nature: the most probable is the most probable, not the definite.
    For example (since practitioners of Occam’s Razor value evidence and tell us that it increases probability exponentially), say a friend of mine and I chose to go for a walk in a thunderstorm. I went in a tee and slacks and she sat astride a warhorse in full medieval plate with her iron lance raised to the sky.
Now, she is far more likely to get hit by lightning than I am, but this does not mean that it is improbable that I will be hit too. In fact, while lightning probably will not hit the same place twice, the most probable is not definite: we could both be hit at the same place, or at the same time and by the same bolt, or perchance she should live and I should die in flame and thunder. All are possibilities and, while not the most probable, must be considered.
    Another concern I have with Occam's Razor is its dictionary wording (I used  paraphrasing), which pertains to rejecting methods which require the least assumptions. For argument’s sake, let’s state an assumption to be any statement not grounded in fact. In such a case, it is important to remember that we as a species always have a reason for assuming something: this reason being that our assumption correlates with our reality.
    Take Vitalism, for example. Due to our lack of knowledge about disease, it was highly natural for us to assume that diseases and spoiling occured naturally, via spontaneous generation. It was only the challenging of this assumption that let us discover germs. Conversely, our society assumes that the cell is the smallest unit of life because we haven’t found a smaller one. But this is not to say there isn’t; future societies might discover that atoms are, in fact, intelligent.
    I could also point out that while Vitalism made the assumption that there was nothing smaller than the eye could see, it required the assumption that this was wrong for us to disprove it, but I have neither the time nor the space to conduct such debate on the nature of logic so I’ll just let that thought germinate and turn to matters that require less assumptions on my part.
    The last flaw I’d like to point out is Occam’s Razor as it is practiced in real life versus how it is used in science, its primary field of use. The examples I have laid out above are primary ones that apply on a day-to-day basis, and while they are applicable to science there is something else that must be considered.
    Science does not use Occam’s Razor. Sciences believes in falsifiability, which is similar but with a subtle distinction: assumptions are acceptable in science, so long as they are provable assumptions. (eg. atoms not being intelligent life, because there is no evidence for it and a great deal of evidence against - quantum physics.) In this way, science falls behind the principle I am about to endeavour to explain to you.
    This is not to say that Occam’s Razor is wrong, just that it must be accepted only with moderation. To this end, I would like to propose the Ninja Potential Theorem: never discount the exceedingly unlikely.
    This theory’s name acts as a reference to its most extreme example, a spontaneous attack by ninjas. There is always a chance that, one fine day in the warmth of spring one will, while harmlessly wandering the streets in search of tasty coffee, be suddenly set upon by a vicious pack of ninjas and slain on the spot.
    Now, these chances are obscenely small, and so one should never assume it will happen (because that would most likely cross the line between prudence and paranoia), but the chance can be confirmed to exist, if only in the purely theoretical sense (its probably more likely than winning the lottery, but then most things are).
    This brings me to the crux of my argument, which is that one should never countenance the Ninja Potential Theorem either. The chances are just too small: while, if I may bring this back to the Lightning Bolt and the Armour analogy, there is still a chance of my being hit by lightning regardless of whether or not I’m wearing armour, the chances of my being hit are drastically smaller (in slacks) such that it would be considered highly prudent not to wear medieval warplate when strolling in the thundering winds.
    Since the Ninja Potential Theorem shouldn’t be considered necessarily correct as it applies to practicing it in real life, this means that the most probable (but not definite) course of action would be to create a counterargument or, if you will, an Anti-Ninja: never consider the exceedingly unlikely.
    Herein a practitioner of the Razor may disagree with me, on the grounds that in theory Occam’s Razor already does this. If practicing Occam’s Razor successfully, then one should presumably consider bizarre and outlandish first and discount them almost immediately as the bizarre and outlandish theories they are. To this I have two replies;
    i) Firstly, discounting is different from not considering. You never need to consider baseless theories or absurd arguments as fact, but it cannot harm you to remember their existence. After all, all lies are predicated in truth (at least to some extent, however tinily), and so no theory would exist unless someone had some reason to believe in it (however absurd that meaning may seem to you).
    ii) Secondly, it is always important to remember why an argument is outlandish. Sometimes the reasons you cite may not be as effective as they first seem. For example, one of the main arguments against alien life on earth is that it would have been seen in modern times. But, and consider seriously, if you had the choice then would you rather be here or elsewhere? The answer, unless your most important character trait is selflessness or you style yourself a bodhisattva, is probably elsewhere.
    I suppose, therefore, the base of my argument is balance. Occam’s Razor exists as a sort triangle, itself the point, with the Ninja Potential Theorem and the Anti-Ninja the base. When one debates the probability of a given event, one must neither discount nor consider the exceedingly unlikely, but rather be aware of it. Be aware of it in the distance, like one is aware aware of the despair of love, or the righteousness of the dragon over the knight, or to the chaining of the moon.

Tuesday, 23 May 2017

Barachois (postmodernist flash fiction)

    Braced in shadows, lost in mist, I wandered lonely. My feet sunk in mud, clattering against the cobbles, and I felt within and without. My stomach heaved, and I stumbled forwards, but all that came out was laughter. I could barely see what was about me, until I set foot within it.
    It was high, those vaulted heavens, their sky a speckled granite. Staring at it, I leaned so far back I fell to the floor beneath me. My head slammed down, my breath caught, and the speckles swum like stony stars. Then a hand held out, and I dragged myself to my feet to shake it. Or perhaps it helped me to my feet: it really is hard to tell in these situations.
    Greetings then, as greetings usually come, and just as useless as greetings usually are. Afterwards the hand, now seemingly familiar to either myself or its supposed owner, tugged gently, leading me like a rabid sheep down halls of liquid stone splashing underfoot. Gargoyles spun down from the heavens, their gaze dragging me down and their claws rending; their gaze rending and their claws dragging me down.
    I could see the ribbed roof of the building heaving far above mel like breaths, or perhaps sobs at their children’s descent. Throughout all this the guiding hand shone like a torch, leading me until… clack. Dry land.
    Hollowed and hallowed, I collapsed to my knees, and the gargoyles that had so bebothered me passed harmlessly o’erhead. I bowed, the floor a slab beneath my body. The hand vanished into darkness, its torch light bobbing into extinguishment. But it was unneeded; the figure in front of me flared like a beacon. As their words washed over me like a siren’s song upon the beach, a lighthouse, I keeled over, and was drawn gently into their lapping bay.
- End -

Sunday, 14 May 2017

World's Shortest Mother's Day Poem

‘Tis now time for the day of Mothers,
When we thank them for our brothers,
And sisters, and cousins too.
For we wouldn’t exist if they didn’t bother.