The Weeping Song: Some Thoughts on Current World Events

     I cannot speak for others. I’m not going to pretend I can. And I won’t do it, lest I misrepresent any voices and viewpoints. But I will speak what is my perspective; that’s certainly all I can do.

     This past Friday night (11/13/15) a group of terrorists launched coordinated attacks on innocent people throughout the city of Paris, France. A bomb went off, shots were fired, bystanders were taken hostage. And in the end, 129 individuals were dead and another 352 wounded. People had just been going about their daily lives. Then suddenly they were targeted, and the thin veil that hangs between each of us and the violent nature of this world fell away. Through the media updates and images, we — those not in Paris — bore witness to the terror experienced by the people within that city. 

     The entirety of the situation is both complex and simple. It is complex because of the multifarious nature of the terrorists’ motives and the politics surrounding the implications of what they did. And, yet, it is simple because many people are dead, and that means so many others are in mournful despair — families, friends, and those who survived. 

     Numerous politicians and media outlets are so quick to place blame for these events. And we all know who will be yoked with that blame. It is far too easy to do this, and the act only serves to create further barriers against peace and solidarity. The throwing of recriminations at all Muslim-identifying people throughout the world is utterly foolhardy and irresponsible. What these terrorist organizations proclaim to be in the name of religion is not truly religious in nature at all. Instead, it is a horrifying blend of misogyny and extremism that they cloak in a banner of something that they only call "Islam." What they truly do is far removed from the heart of that religion to which they have laid claim. Not to mention that thousands among those they target are identified-Muslims. And what of those other victims of terrorism throughout the world that the media and politicians have not deemed as worthy of our attention as those in Paris, France? There are many names and faces missing in the updates and headlines that also deserve our support — most of these being non-white and non-Western in origin.

     That said, no one should feel any shame for mourning, for experiencing sadness, toward what happened in Paris and those affected. It is certainly a terrible thing. No one deserves it. And those who survived and the rest of us out in the surrounding world all have a right to our emotions. We need time to experience them fully and allow even more time to reflect on both the complexity and simplicity of what has occurred. It is in these moments of mourning and sadness that we ought to realize that how we react to our emotions will be very important in the coming days, weeks, months, and years. This is a time to take stock of what and whom we deem important in this world. Because the type of terrorism seen in Paris is not singular to that city and its people. It is a sincere hope of mine that the events of last Friday night will open up some — hopefully many — minds to those other cities and peoples throughout the world, to the horrors and oppression they have suffered. Mourning and condolences should not be limited to only those that the media deem worthy. Stand also with all terrorized people — be it due to racism, misogyny, homo/transphobia, religious extremism, capitalism, classism, whatever — in all places on this earth. 

     I am not certain that this will have a positive outcome as I have yet to see one under such circumstances in the past. It seems more likely that there will be a severe and fevered backlash against the entirety of the Islam-identifying world — though the overwhelming majority of which do not share any ties or agendas with those who terrorize. This makes me increasingly wary as it does more to divide those of us who would stand against the terrorist threat from one another, creating a much more vulnerable population. And it makes many others more susceptible to the dangerous messages humming about from these terrorist organizations all over the world. We’ve seen this numerous times. I just wonder how many more times we will let history play out in this manner before we can begin to change the course. 

"later that night

I held an atlas in my lap

ran my fingers across the whole world

and whispered

where does it hurt?

It answered

everywhere

everywhere 

everywhere."

-Warsan Shire

Review of the film Selma

"Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable... Every step toward the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle; the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals.”     
                          - Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

     There are so many angles a review of Selma could take. The timeliness of a film centered on the American Civil Rights Movement is undeniable. Race is at the forefront of discussions all over our national media. And names like Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown, Renisha McBride, and Eric Gardner sound like echoes of those that resonated so loudly in the country’s ears nearly 50 years ago. This story is uncannily familiar in our current cultural moment. It could seem like we have come so far since the 60s in regards to civil rights, yet it is blatantly apparent that there is still very far to go. 

     Following Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. as he works with other dedicated and passionate black activists, the film focuses its lens on a few weeks of time during the movement. This short period was the lead-up to that historical protest march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama that precluded President Lyndon B. Johnson’s signing of the 1965 Voting Rights Act. Director Ava DuVernay chooses this angle instead of the usual biographic tactic of attempting to provide a neat narrative arch to an entire life. It is a fruitful choice, as it gives the proceedings a streamlined intensity. It also allows for more shaded depth to the supporting players, who were each significant individuals in their own right. Giving nuance to all those interwoven in this historical moment does not sully the message — King and his allies were marked with imperfections and personal struggles as all human beings are — rather, this strategy proves how profoundly personal the political can be and vice versa. And among these strongly depicted characters are those very real women who populated the movement. DuVernay places them on equal footing with the often more recognizable male figures surrounding King, and this serves the film’s theme extremely well.

     That theme of the personal being political is also on display within each of the many differing levels of bureaucracy in which Dr. King is enmeshed as he works towards the movement’s goals. He steers himself with grace and determination — from the highest office of political power, verbally sparring and negotiating with the president of the United States — to the pews of a Selma, Alabama church, where he speaks in hushed tones with his fellow activists as they flex and step towards something that could resemble grassroots consensus. It is through these transitions that we also see Dr. King the fallible and resilient man right alongside the shining iconic figure of history. The two identities are not separate, and we watch this human being radiating an inner power and nearly unwavering sense of personal and political agency. This voice that spoke so loudly — that grew out of so much support and tenacity from so many who surrounded him in moments of high and low alike.

     There also have been a lot of high and low controversies following this film around. The ones that stand out the most to me are that of certain voices and groups calling out historical inaccuracies within Selma’s narrative. Specifically, the supposed alteration of President Johnson’s role in the negotiations leading up to the Voting Rights Act and that of the exclusion of Rabbi Abraham Heschel from the ranks of those who march with Dr. King. In looking at historical inaccuracies in the Hollywood film universe overall, it seems especially telling that there is so much outrage over these particular figures. In my mind, it almost reads like a kind of knee-jerk protest against the racial make-up of those protagonists on most prominent display throughout the story. Those we are asked to identify with most strongly are black, proud, and complete agents of their own destiny in the midst of the movement. That so many viewers of such a film — who also happen to be mostly white — are crying foul because of the reduction of white historical characters on the screen should be suspect. I don’t mean to shame anyone’s experience, but I do think that one should question these kinds of quick reactions to what is a moving and emotionally honest portrayal of an important moment in American history. It’s not ever easy to look at cultural errors without also feeling defensive towards our own role in them. We all share guilt in some way, but that is the nature of history. To pick on this film for those reasons is somewhat naive and altogether faulty — especially in terms of the message of such a film as Selma.

     We should be able to identify with those who do not always look, sound, and act like ourselves. That doesn’t mean that it’s always easy and that we don’t have to examine our first, second, third and ongoing reactions when presented with difficult cultural and historical messages. But the more stories we seek out and share are not simply a matter of diversity — they are a mandate for reality. Selma is a mighty and artful piece of that reality.

"If you are a person ... that has a human spirit looking to be enlarged, you cannot do that staying in the same room with the same people...It's not about diversity. It's not about even inclusion or representation. It's about reality."                                                                                                                   
                                                                            - Selma Director Ava DuVernay

"What happens when a man stands up...says enough is enough?”                                                            
                                - lyrics from the song “Glory” by Common & John Legend

Some thoughts on the film Gone Girl

"There's a difference between really loving someone and loving the idea of her."*

    The David Fincher directed film Gone Girl feels incredibly icy and sleek. Based upon the novel of the same name, the story begins with the disappearance of a beautiful blond wife from her home in middle America. Of course, then the husband becomes the primary suspect. There are signs of a struggle and a massive amount of blood spilled and cleaned up but no body. And as the husband, Nick, is thrown through the paces of both sheepish innocence and assumed suspicion, we begin to learn that the picture-perfect marriage was not quite thus at all or ever. There are clues that point towards veiled - and not quite so veiled - malice and maybe some signs of domestic violence, perhaps callous cheating, and the wife, Amy, might have been pregnant when she vanished. It all makes for a suspenseful procedural. Especially in Fincher's hands - just see the director's other polished and glassy efforts including Zodiac and Seven. 
     But there is even more to this story than just the aforementioned. There is a twist - a big twist - and I will attempt mightily to avoid spilling it here. But be warned: you might be able to guess at that secret plot point by reading further.
     I can say that Amy, the girl who is gone, has a history. A sordid history of a malevolent nature. And it is dredged up as the searchers exhaustively poke through the woods, fields, trash heaps, and lakes within and surrounding the small town from which she has vanished - without real trace as to where she is now and if she is still alive. But there is evidence of a different kind in Amy's past, and I had to keep reminding myself that the novel and the film's script were written by a woman over and over again as I watched the narrative flex and stretch beyond all recognition of reality.
    So it goes like this: Amy has a history of sociopathic behaviors - making up rape and physical and emotional abuse claims to punish the various men in her life. It's disturbing on many levels, and I know I am not the only one who got a strange sensation from this story's details. I can't help but think play with a few ideas about how this reads to me. It's just infinitely interesting to consider, but I certainly can't say that this was at all an intention of those writing the script or filming the movie. Humor me. To my specifically wired brain, Gone Girl the film reads almost like a screeching response to the current swell of voices speaking out against the gendered/sexualized violence inherent in our misogynistic culture. As the number of those survivors and allies against sexual and domestic violence grows and their voices increase in volume, Amy's outright lying and manipulation surrounding these types of acts can almost sound like an antifeminist rant - against those who decry misogyny and its innumerable attributes. To me, it reads like a knee-jerk backlash comment that could've come from those who benefit most from and buy into misogyny (even when they are not consciously aware of it). Amy's fabrications are their worst nightmare come to life, i.e. a woman making up claims of sexual and domestic violence to punish "innocent" men. It's another example of a commonly-employed excuse this culture pushes to denounce and silence those who come forward to critique it. Because there was once a woman who lied, all your voices - survivors and allies alike - are questionable and, thus, discredited. 
     It is a questionable reading of this film, to be sure. But I do know I am not the only one who had that prickly haired feeling when Amy's history and nature of malicious and vengeful acts was revealed. It sounds a lot like something I have heard so many, many times before.



"What are you thinking? What are you feeling? What have we done to each other? What will we do?"*



*dialogue from the film

Thoughts inspired by the television series True Detective: Season 1

     I realize that I'm a little late to the review party on this one. I'm almost always early to parties, unfashionably so. But, in this case, I'm so unfashionably tardy. Oh well.  
     I've had a lot on my mind lately. And my thoughts on the first season of HBO's True Detective were somewhere in that whirlpool occupying my head space as well. It is only in the last few weeks and days, as I read and read and am near overflowing with reactions to the Elliot Rodger killing spree in California, that those reflections surrounding this television series began to spill over into the forefront once again. I guess the threads of the real life tragedy have become knotted together with the frayed, dangling ends of the somber fictional tale floating about in my brain.
    It is not my intent to infer that Rodger and the wholly imaginary killer of True Detective: Season 1 are the same thing. They are not. But they are of the same cruel world, the same culture of misogyny, privilege and entitlement. Please allow me a little elaboration - or flight of fancy - whatever the following might be named.
     In season one of the series, detectives Rust Cohle and Marty Hart, as written by the creators of the show, swirl some mighty thick and dark waters. And throughout the confined narrative, we catch fleeting, shadowy glimpses of terrifying and powerful monsters lurking beneath that surface. Many decry the single, smaller - but still horrifying - beast of a man that ultimately emerges as a cop out. He doesn't seem to live up to the epic nature of those lurking monoliths that remain behind. The critics can argue about faulty harbingers of a vastly different conclusion to the story until their faces turn blue. Yes, I agree, those waters still harbor greater giants whose hides are thick with the armor of veiled decency and order - be it cloaks of religiosity, tailored suits of bureaucracy, tightly linked arms of family values, whatever - they are allowed to stay hidden. For now.
    On May 23, 2014, the horrific events caused by Rodger swirled to the surface and emerged. And certain threads of truths were drawn out with them and him, dripping from the young man's shoulders and back. Then they were deposited on the shore upon his death, like ropey strands leading back into the watery murk. And people - some outspoken and others more hesitant - began to pick up those cords and pull, tugging hand over hand to draw out that which would still remain concealed.
     There are those who, like viewers of True Detective: Season 1, had seen the dark shadows of things much bigger than the one singular man that surfaced. Now, those premonitions of larger monsters are becoming real through the evidence being dragged up. Their existence has been thoroughly rebuffed. Or whispered about by that population who knew the constant disavowals were false. But the beasts' very real outlines are becoming more distinguishable to all. They are taking on their true forms, and those who would deny them still seem increasingly absurd.
     So many wrongly believe that misogyny is a women's issue - that the realities of this constant force are simply a female problem. But this cultural climate is what we all swim in, and no one - not women, men, nor those who identify differently - can remain unchanged by that which is all around each of us. We are held inside it; we all breath, and digest the culture. To a different extent for each of us, true, but that effect is still present in our lives, shaping and filtering our individual contexts. 
     
"Yes, we should all be feminists, but too often we believe that the plight of the oppressed is solely the business of the oppressed, and that the society in which that oppression is born and grows and the role of the oppressors and beneficiaries are all somehow subordinate." 
    - “Yes, All Men” by Charles M. Blow in the New York Times section 'The Opinion Pages' on 06/01/14.
     
     And this is not just about misogyny and women, but also the privilege and entitlement afforded to so few at the expense of the majority. It is about racism, classism, sexism, xenophobia, ethnocentrism, egocentrism, greed, and hypocrisy. I could go all day on the wrongs that this is about. I hope others realize that the cumulative weight of these wrongs has an adverse effect on everyone - those oppressed and those perpetrators and those who fall into categories of both. 
     Maybe these wrongs can be become fleshed out and seen for what they are - drastically limiting facets of our culture. In True Detective: Season 1, the narrative introduces misty outlines of this - hinting at the grand architecture of society's ills. Even the utter lack of well-developed and progressive female characters can be seen as a suggestion of the misogynistic nature of the world portrayed therein. And/or it can be viewed as a glaring error by the creative team behind the show. Either way, it is extremely troubling to witness.
      Women were viewed in a very similar manner by Elliot Rodger. They did not possess true multi-dimensionality or full human agency. The way in which he talked about what women, and society too, owed him recalls the female characters inhabiting the edges of True Detective. They each serve a purpose - sex, titillation, sympathy, deepening male character development mostly - and then they fade again into the background and are forgotten, until their presence is needed for further narrative advancement. They are ornaments in this fictional universe. You could also say that about many of the sideline male characters of the show - like those of the biker gang the detectives must infiltrate and the entirety of the African American population living in the neighborhood Cohle must navigate out of during a police raid, both in the fifth episode of the season. One could argue that Elliot Rodger seemed to look at everyone, besides himself, that way too. 
     But it is most glaring when examining the view of women in each instance. When focusing on how they are portrayed in this television story and the story that Rodger seemed to be reading and telling himself, one can catch sight of those monsters over their shoulders, rising, revealing themselves for what they are - beastly structures constructed and fortified by concepts of misogyny, privilege, and entitlement. They continue to dip in and out of clear focus, misty and slippery, but they should be gazed upon by all and named accordingly. They make everyone perpetrators, victims, or some combination of the two - and I hope that, on a basic level, there are an increasing number of people who realize that those roles are not who any of us wish to be. We have been molded into inert bystanders of a society built on the bending and breaking backs of all. Instead, we need to clasp hold of those ropey strands left on the shoreline and begin to wade in.
    

Touch darkness and darkness touches you back.*

P.S. While I was writing this post, I listened to the Spotify playlist entitled "HBO's 'True Detective.'" It features 80 songs that were used over the course of the season, adding up to over 2 and 1/2 hours of awesome.


*Tagline from HBO's True Detective: Season 1

Thoughts inspired by the poetry collection Diving Into The Wreck by Adrienne Rich

"A man is asleep in the next room
     We are his dreams
     We have the heads and breasts of 
     women
     the bodies of birds of prey
     Sometimes we turn into silver serpents"
- excerpt from the poem Incipience by Adrienne Rich


"Men are afraid women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them."  - Margaret Atwood


     I remember times when I have laughed at certain jokes and seemingly random aside comments of casual misogyny. I think back on those moments and wonder how I could have chuckled so easily? How readily these blatant suggestions and hints of gender/sexuality based violence have risen from some individuals' throats and out their mouths, falling upon the ears of those who know better. How could these persons be so cad about veiled but handy threats against others - those who are their friends, their coworkers, their lovers and family? How could we, me, giggle as though these threats are never carried out, that there are those among us, men and women, who suffer beneath the weight of their constant shadow? Why do we titter about what is a reality as though it were not? How is it that I myself can giggle when I could easily be made victim of such suggested acts? And, perhaps, be made yet another survivor or simple statistic...of the misogyny that dominates our culture...but that so many - possible victims and probable perpetrators - have willed themselves to believe is just innocent fodder, guiltless fuel for laughs over drinks and dinner.
    The hair on my skin stands on end every time, no matter how I may grin and chuckle, allow these moment to pass without raising objections. Because, I have now begun to understand, there was silent objection, muted query and closemouthed protest. And I can guess that it wasn't just my own disapproval. There are those around me whose hair also stands up in the same mum manner. They might not have a clear notion of why this is happening, but it's there - the cloudy idea that what is being said isn't funny, is too true to ever be simple, or simply humorous.         
     Every one loses in a misogynistic culture. Men and women and those innumerable individuals who do not/choose not to fall into that limiting, culturally-constructed binary of identity. Even those who would be labeled perpetrators - they are losing out too...on the better options, actions, and identities possible for themselves and for those with whom they come into contact and affect/are affected by.
    The currently commonplace phrases "Not All Men" and "Yes All Women" and the heinous words and, much worse, deafeningly loud actions of one perpetrator in California have been ringing in my ears as I both skim and sink into Adrienne Rich's seventh volume of poetry, Diving Into The Wreck: Poems 1971 - 1972. The precision of her language across such a range of experiences yields images so delicately personal yet, also, so revelatory in their universal nature. Rich renders clearly identifiable feelings and notions that were once foggy - shrouded in cloud...floating along the edges of conscious thought. She writes of loss, love, intent, despair. And of those horrible things that one person can do to another. This includes acts of terrifying violence...rape, homicide...events that seem so hard to imagine at more innocent moments but are so present all around, all the time...are reality for so many.   
     I grapple with my distance from/proximity to the events that swirl around and surround me. I fumble to make sense of the tectonic-plate-like shifting of roles for men and women throughout the world. I sometimes weep over what it feels like I owe to others because of those roles that I have been forced/willingly stepped into. And I despair over what others find their spines bending and splintering under the weight of. 
     So, in my struggle forward, treading - sometimes weakly, other times fiercely and with such great purpose - through the murk, I will discover a buoy at my fingertips and grab hold. Call it a romantic, silly mirage. Call it a privilege afforded to so few. Call it whatever the fuck you wish. But I will continue to reach for those small islands of respite and re-invigoration, like Rich's transcendent, gloriously fortifying poems. We all find our strength where we can.
     
"I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
I came to see the damage that was done
and the treasures that prevail."
                                           - excerpt from the poem Diving Into The Wreck by Adrienne Rich

     

RIP author, activist, dancer, singer, actress and all around fabulous human being Maya Angelou

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." - Maya Angelou

Thoughts inspired by Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five (and a sorta review)

      In a passage detailing his undergraduate anthropological studies after World War II, Kurt Vonnegut wrote:
    
   "Another thing they taught me was that nobody was ridiculous or bad or disgusting. Shortly before my father died, he said to me, 'You know — you never wrote a story with a villain in it."
     I told him that was one of the things I learned in college after the war."

     I must admit that this has been one of the central themes of my own higher education at both the undergraduate and graduate levels. And there are moments when I desperately desire that this notion be true. Certainly survivors and victims, even perpetrators and bystanders, all are — at some point on each of their lives' trajectories — scot-free of blame. Every one of them has been innocent of being ridiculous, bad, or disgusting. How could I even begin to believe such a thing?
     Let me explain. This is a sentiment only encouraged by how I interpret Vonnegut in Slaughterhouse-Five. His protagonist, Billy Pilgrim, while in the evening years of his life, becomes unstuck in time. He swings from one moment of his existence to another, years and decades into the past or future. He could flash backwards to his childhood — staring at the painful-looking crucifixion on the wall above his bed. Or he could land unexpectedly in the time beyond death — where there is nothing but purple haze and a low humming sound. Or he could be catapulted into the basement of the slaughterhouse in which he was held prisoner beneath Dresden, Germany during the very end days of the War — and above which fall thousands upon thousands of bombs, leveling the beautiful city to ashes and shards. Or he could skip back to his abduction by the Tralfamadorians, an infinitely superior alien race of tiny green beings shaped like plumber's friends, who have much to teach Billy about time. Such wonderful things they instruct him to share with the rest of the human race. Vonnegut wrote that these Tralfamadorians are able to see in four dimensions, an extra over that of our measly three. This is how, Vonnegut explained, they view time:

     "All moments, past, present, and future, always have existed, always will exist. The Tralfamadorians can look at all the different moments just the way we can look at a stretch of the Rocky Mountains, for instance. They can see how permanent all these moments are, and they can look at any moment that interests them. It is just an illusion we have here on Earth that one moment follows another one, like beads on a string, and that once a moment is gone it is gone forever."

     So this is how I imagine that Vonnegut sincerely attempted to view the world's inhabitants. All those survivors and victims, even perpetrators and bystanders, were once and, perhaps, still are innocent beings. Every one of these individuals — little babies before the sins and errors they will surely commit and have committed against them. There is a passage in the novel in which Billy Pilgrim has a transcendent vision; it’s of the world’s history in reverse, like a film projector running backwards — of those horrible deeds done by so many to so many undone, of bombs that had been dropped returning upwards to the bomber planes they came from, and those planes returning to their hangers, and of the mechanisms and chemistry of those bombs being dismantled, and everything returned to factories and labs, and then to their natural forms. It’s a wonderful thing to imagine. 

     “And Hitler turned into a baby, Billy Pilgrim supposed…Everybody turned into a baby, and all humanity, without exception, conspired biologically to produce two perfect people named Adam and Eve, he supposed.”

     Not that I believe in Adam and Eve as told by the Bible’s book of Genesis. But look at how I capitalize certain words despite my disbelief! It is strange how there are particular things that we cannot unlearn no matter how much we wish we could. They hold onto us, and we discover that we cannot lessen our own grip on them — though we thought we had done so long before.
     Each of us is a product of many different systems working on and against many others. It’s all about context — the biology and genealogy, the familial and community influences, the point of history in question, the economic and political structures at play, the quality of life on Earth, etc... We are constantly in flux — being worked on by and trying to balance ourselves against the world’s innumerable forces.
     I’m sure there's faulty logic in here somewhere. I certainly can’t claim to know what Vonnegut believed. But I personally hold that once a piece of art/literature is released into the world, the artist/author no long has any jurisdiction to direct the audiences’ impressions of that work. Thus, the readers of Vonnegut’s masterpieces may interpret them however they would like. It is my intent to do so thoughtfully, especially since I am on a quest to dissect why certain books speak to me so much. And Slaughterhouse-Five is one of those novels that simply will not stop speaking to me — no matter how many times I pick it up to flip through, and ultimately, reread in its entirety again and again.
     So, some may ask, where is the villain? And if there exist no true villains, what becomes of personal responsibility — of holding individuals accountable for their heinous acts against others? Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five is notably lacking in individual villains. Sure, there are plenty of people behaving poorly, but whose fault is all of the nonsense and horror? Who does Vonnegut blame for the leveling of Dresden by Allied bombs in the last days of what is commonly considered to be the absolute worst series of events in the history of the world?

Why do such cruel and abhorrent things occur so often? 

Why do terrible things happen to anyone at all?

     “‘That is a very Earthling thing to ask, Mr. Pilgrim.’”  A Tralfamadorian tells Billy when he is first abducted. “‘Why you? Why us for that matter? Why anything? Because this moment simply is. Have you ever seen bugs trapped in amber?…Well, here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why.’”

     I can’t say that I agree that there is no why, as Vonnegut spoke through his little green characters. And perhaps he did not believe it completely either. Because it seems that he kept asking this question in nearly every book he penned after Slaughterhouse-Five, until his death in April of 2007.  There exists no definitive answer, but my curiosity continues, waxing and waning in intensity. Just as his certainly did. We are caught like insects in the three dimensions we are able to sense; we do not share the fictional Tralfamadorians’ capacity to gaze upon that fourth dimension — that view of time as much more flexible than we can ever begin to comprehend.
    Thus, it appears to be the nature of our existence to keep asking these unanswerable questions. And I promise I will keep asking. So it goes.