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In response to the article on io.9.com, Is Science Fiction Humanism A Contradiction In Terms? I was compelled to use my 'me too sense' with a response that is a glaring, 'it depends':

This is a fantastic article and conversation. I do want to point out that the term Human may include more than our modern selves, typically any past version of the Homo genus. If that's the case, should it not include future versions? Homo Sapiens are Human but would their slightly advanced, stronger, versions,... Homo Geniens not also be Human--just better?

To lump all Science Fiction into one vein of thought would be a mistake as I think authors and creators are what determines whether the work supports or contradicts humanism, ultimately. But I would say the struggle to understand self (even when that self may not be a human because this quest is in fact--a very human trait!) then we're talking about humanism.

Though how that story is painted may shred notions of Humanism while others support it. I'd be surprised if anything in my work didn't ultimately tout Humanity as highly flawed and highly worthy of the quest that is Life. Highly Human! We do as we are.

I have no control over what my mind thinks, an idea arrests-then vibrates my brain matter. Sometimes, it goes places that are quite uncomfortable. And I'm stuck living this way.

No, Santa isn't likely to be bringing any inspiration. Because he doesn't exist. He was created through a series of stories and images that...do exist. Hm. It seems I have confused notions of reality once again. Moving on..

I believe when we're empty we have nothing to give. Intrinsically, I mean, at a very basic level, we are a combination of things we have absorbed. In every way, often in ways we never notice, we somehow give out the ingredients that were put in. In no being is this more prevalent, nowhere is it no more important, than in a creator.

A creator takes the things she sees and tastes, using every bit of her senses to absorb the world she observes, synthesizes it and remixes it as something new and vaguely familiar.

Those things that come in, those inputs we call inspiration. All human creators are inspired in some way by the same experiences. Circumstances vary greatly between individual lives. By definition, those that share the Human Experience do not treat inputs exactly alike.

But no matter the walk of life, certain inputs inspire fight or flight. A Hollywood star is inspired to laugh just like a custodian. A King knows fear just as well as Joe Sixpack. Creators that seek inputs, those motivations and inspirations, in the hopes that they can make something new are artists.

Using life's inspirations to exist in a world exactly the way it is when you arrive is a waste of precious time for true artists. We want nothing more than to be weaving, programming, crafting, and creating or finding inspiration to do so. We're not sure life would be worth it if we couldn't.

Artists that make new artstuff with enormous speed and stark variance from anything known, we call genius. While she who does more of the opposite, we call Hollywood producers. Either way, without those inspirational inputs, there would be nothing to output.

As a literary artist, it's my duty to seek out inspirations, wherever they may be. It just so happens that New York City is one of those places that makes artlife so much easier (beyond a walk down a city street rife with source material). Here's a few on my list for the month of December09:

MoMA : Tim Burton

In 1989, Tim Burton directed a film that forever changed my view of the world, garnered a lifetime of respect for Michael Keaton and inspired my first tattoo. Need I say more. On show through April 2010 (da future)

The MET : The Art of the Samurai.

In the world of, The Guardians, the dominant self defense and warfare tactic very heavily resembles Samurai weaponry and culture. I don't know what I'm more ashamed of, having never visited Japan or not having been to check out this exhibit yet. October 21, 2009-January 10, 2010

Cirque Du Soleil - Wintuk

The woman are extremely flexible, the guys have Gambit like agility and there are pretty colors. And the women are very flexible. October 21, 2009-January 10, 2010

What shocking new evidence lies behind the charge that commercials are the real cause behind adult delinquency!

Here comes a rare break from the creation of ideas, which I save this space for, to something very different. My reflection of the creation of ideas. Maybe it's not so different but I promise, it's interesting.

Some parts of the novel I'm working on were written years ago. Years. Yet, during editing, where things are cut, swapped, deleted and finessed, I'll find myself adding what I don't remember is already there. Essentially, rewriting the scene as I envisioned it years ago. It's always a pleasant surprise, like 'oh great--it's already here.'

And yet, it's also a bit freaky, since, I can't remember what I had for breakfast a week ago. It almost feels like the story and the very narrative were given to me, rather than written by me. Is it cosmic plagiarism? Has some existential vehicle driven these ideas into the fabric of my being? WTF?

After all the whiskey I've drank, all the emails I sent and all the invites I've forgotten to accept over the years, how do I know that in a particular passage, I want to convey just how hungry the protagonist is by imagining the aroma beating against the walls of her stomach? It's a guarantee that I will leave my apartment without my keys at least one more time before the year is over, yet my mind is crystal clear on the lives of these characters and the world they live in.

There's something going on here. Im not smart enough to figure it out--i'm just a messenger, but I have questions and I want answers. Maybe it's being fed to me. Like an umbilical chord, funneling nutrients from Mother. Hmm. That's good imagery--I think i'll do something with that.

--fervor.

May 3rd, 2009 : 11:34 pm

When will they learn, you can't see me from the outside, yes, precisely, never judge a book by her cover.

May 3rd, 2009 : 6:27 pm

Let mentality not be defined by reality, unfit, an undermining quality, but rather reality defined by mentality, dream, an omniscient totality.

April 30th, 2009 : 1:18 pm

You know you are a writer, when the genesis of thought and result of action, focus on embedding what's past, in the reality of the future.

April 30th, 2009 : 7:02 am

He left before even fully awake, the air stung his eyes, tears ran, stealing the joy of this day; morning

April 28th, 2009 : 12:54 am

the role of science fiction is to postulate a reality so that we become curious of such an eventuality, humans breed wonder into ingenuity.

April 24th, 2009 : 12:54 am

Alt-Tab-Sometimes its like you barely stopped working at all. Technically, you haven't, when the switch is from Facebook to Twitter. Learn

April 24th, 2009 : 12:24 am

His blackberry became the secret to his success. He knew that whenever he glanced at it, people assumed he was working.

April 23rd 2009 : 11:22 pm

What this planet needs is another space race. Nothing will excite wonder more than seeing a few of our people landing on Venus. Change.

April 22nd 2009 : 12:39 pm

Do you take me seriously, she asked? He found it somewhat comical, as he does with most things. The problem is that he loved most things.

April 21st 2009 : 9:23 pm

I coulda said head, makes sense with fed. Unless its Eral, they have a lot of rules, alphabet boys, we learn to follow in school.

April 21st, 2009 : 9:21 pm

She makes me feel alive,the opposite of dead,soul that's never fed,and I know it dont have to,but poems always rhyme whn spilld from my mind

April 21st, 2009 : 9:21 pm

I didn't suspect he was dying until he said, I got one regret today: that I didn't start getting high, ten hours earlier. Not tomorrow.

April 18th, 2009 : 12:55 pm

Brother forgive the brash. Blasphe-me in the delivery. People are the light, want for more right. Forsake whatever's left. In the mirror stares best. Praise human, god brews inem. Blasphe-me.

April 18th, 2009 : 11:06 am
Not fair when she's passive. first I turn me on thn I must turn her! Wht if I'm tired, dont wnt to move. Maybe do it in the dark? All this for a light switch.

April 17th, 2009 : 1:12 pm
The scissors closed, the strand of hair feathered to the floor. that should do it, he said. i took my last piece of human dna with me

April 16th, 2009 : 9:06 pm
his fingertips collided together like a row of dominoes again and again. the door opened, her eyes startled immediately. where were you?

April 16th, 2009 : 5:08 pm
and said:we can no longer afford to solely exist, if we want this nation to serve us, we must serve it & not lay hope in an elected class

April 16th, 2009 : 2:26 pm
It was cold, my fingers ached and I couldn't think straight. I watched her float from away from the wreckage in disbelief. I was on my own.

April 15th, 2009 : 7:13 pm
Seat searcher: a type of individual or state of being that stalks about until they find a place to sit or run out of room, whicheva's first.

April 13, 2009 : 10:08pm
an artist that uses words to paint on the canvas of reality.

What follows is a flash fiction piece by Thunder Falcon, a rare and quality soul. As she explains in the foreword, Thunder took a small strand of mine and weaved an intricate and alluring world. I'm honored to be a part of a world that we can as one make.

A fellow author and acquaintance of mine, often does these little 'finish the sentence' word plays, tapping various people with certain quill tendencies. Sometimes what results, is a provocative philosophical discussion. Other times, we get a short story with various different endings. The following flash fiction piece "Flickering Reminiscence" was the result of a particularly inspiring 'word play' that Jae Bi put out that I answered. Authors are listed in order of appearance. Much thanks to Jaebi.

A ray of light reaches through the blinds and gently pulls on Her eyelash.

He watches as she opens Her eyes, full and bright. As if the distance from dream to wake is as simple as stepping from one room into another.

"I leave tomorrow," He says. "After that, we may never see one another again. Tell me the thing that matters for us and for life. Tell me what it is you want me to know above all else."

She takes a concentrated breath and then says, (finish this sentence . . . ) "Now that I have chance to have it officially documented, I want it made absolutely clear that I asked you, to pick up some eggs at the store. You always remember the milk, no problem. You love milk. But you always forget the eggs, because you hate eggs. And then later claim, very innocently mind you, that I never told you to get them in the first place." She laughs making his heart grow weak. "But now I have irrefutable evidence."

The television screen flickers a moment and she smiles.

He had remembered shooting the video on the morning of her birthday. But the recorded memory of her waking up had been the real gift. Nevertheless, he vowed this would be the last day, the last time, he would ever play the tape.

"I leave tomorrow for that business trip. After I come back, we may never see one another again," he says with greater conviction.

"Oh, don't worry. I still love you, even if you don't remember anything I ever tell you." She smiles again, the light playing across her face as if she were alive.

How he wished, she were still alive.

Turning off the player, he picks up his suitcase, only half certain he will be able to break himself of the mournful habit. But as he walks out the door, he's already waiting to see her face again, if only as flickering light, playing over and over again.

The Alchemist Episode 1 and Episode 2 are available for download now!

The basic composition of nature surrounds them. Countless miniscule nuclei hover like planets, electrons and protons whir like moons and comets. Jasir reaches for the principle matter of life and death like an alchemist for the philosopher's stone. The weight of the stone is trivial as it can and must be willed to be denser, lighter or simply different. Anything is attainable.

Jasir plucks the chord of existence like a master composer. The air surrounding the four bodies in the room surges like a shaken image. A rogue wave traverses the molecules in the room like a Tsunami. It causes the center of the room to implode like the surface of a lake struck by a pebble. The surge snaps outward, a sound-bending explosion of matter.
Nothing under the surges influence is spared except its nuclei, Jasir. Atoms of the air, the furniture, walls and bodies flap like flags in a breeze. Solids bend and warp back into their original configuration like rubber bands, inertia reclaims order.

Jasir drops a short distance, feeling the ground rumbling when he touches down. Grasp and Taylon are convulsing uncontrollably. Taylon's lasso handle lays harmless and without the yellow bindings that protruded from it. The ball of light too, has vanished along with a spherical chunk of Jasir's house. Everything the ball of light touched is gone, all that matter simply scooped away. The sting in Jasir's shoulder reminds him to pull the knife out.

neoculture: a global pattern of human behavior marked by the use of IT to replace the need for oppressive and/or superfluous social systems.

Good news for iPod and iTunes users! Follow the link above to download AudioShorts via the popular iTunes Store.

Even better, you can subscribe to the jaebi on iTunes channel and receive updates whenever there is a new story to download. Three AudioShorts are available with more to come.

Download, Sync, Go!

you know, everytime she spins around and casts darkness across the entire sky, i just wonder what she's trying to get at.

its actually pretty important that you can control sound when you are recording. i'm sure my production seasoned friends are like 'duh' but april fool's on you--i'm an amateur and yet i possess a nugget of your craft! in your face structured education, experiential learning rules! yet i digress.

i thought i might get some recording done at home but dialogue is always ruined by an approaching or deproaching car. Somehow i thought the dialogue would be simpler but i know better now. the narrative wasn't any better although when i played it back i was immediately enthralled by the reader's voice. i'm thought it would sound less vain when i referred to myself as the reader but now i'm not so sure.

ah, time to take out the garbage.

Jasir watched from the exit as Calli ran for the barbed fence. When she reached it, he pushed his influence past her. His strength from the void laid the nickel gate flat across dirt like a knife smoothing butter over bread.

The fence of 10 feet was pulled into a sharp slope, still leaving ample space for a Mac Truck to pass. A second before the razor barbs ripped flesh but they suddenly wiggled into an upper layer of ground soot.

Calli crossed the path laid like a jacket over a puddle tenuously as if it could spring upright at any moment. She stopped at the edge of a barbed loop and turned to face Jasir--too close for his comfort. Once he lifted the fence she could have either got nicked or would certainly have gotten dirt in her eyes. He didn't have time to motion her backward so he envisioned a rope in his clenched fists and pulled.

The lowered section of fence slid away from the edges of Calli's feet. Once it was far enough Jasir pulled upward on an invisible tether and the nickel fence followed. A dirt cloud billowed outward toward Calli and Jasir exhaled sharply through his nostrils and the billow of dirt-dust fell to the ground like pebbles. Calli stood stationary on the far side of the tall fence, restored to its original function. She watched Jasir, unblinkingly and he started from a vibration in the center of the void-sphere--his moment at the motel room door with Calli. Even two hundred feet away a look from her eyes made him feel it.

Jasir backed into the building, swinging the door inward. His eyes stayed on Calli and it seemed as if he might never need her to leave. When the steel door closed, Jasir was left inside with two violent hunters and the feeling in his chest.

Curiosity doesn't always kill the cat. Some times the she just enjoys the show. In this excerpt from The Alchemist - Episode 1, two beings stand on the outside, looking in.

Uatu, do you tire of the council?

Orlaxt, this universe is a tireless existence, but we know the dangers of restlessness.

And of answering questions plainly.

Mmm.

I have seen the logs you keep. Even now, you still monitor the events of Earth 616.

So often is that particular universe the epicenter of tidal change across the multiverse. Earth 616 provides compelling evidence to support the Great Framework theories. For this reason, I study the planets' developments. Not due to the nostalgic lure of gazing.

Well done. In some time, your rebuttal should even convince your own consciousness of that argument.

Thus is the making of a higher being.

Your mind is always for the betterment of our people. Still your heart has led you to break our oath more than 400 times!

How far did you read into the record of Earth 616?

Far enough to suggest that you place great value in the lives of those human beings. Perhaps you prefer living to watching.

The value lies in its multidimensional significance, not in any I might place on it. Even now, the destiny of Earth 616 intertwines with another, Earth 494E9C.

Is this worth listening to?

If not, we'll jump back.

Go on.

Contrary to what you have stated, my interests peaked when reviewing my replacements records--not due to my own observations.

Exonerated, yet again. Hurry with this tale before I am bored.

A curious manhunt has begun for a being on Earth 616 born with control of the power cosmic.

Truly?

Yes, but as is often the case of that species, he imposes upon himself the limits of his environment. But now a species from an alternative earth--

Earth 494E9C?

Correct. The dominant species from Earth 494E9C are closing in on their target. These hunters aim to capture the power cosmic in hopes that they can use it to maintain their waning oppression of their worlds' sub-species. The very same species of their target.

Fascinating. The earthlings of 494E9C wield cross-dimensional technology.

Inadvertently. They intended only to travel along the fourth dimension, in reverse.

Amusing. But it seems premature to think there is any significance of these happenings beyond two star-crossed worlds. Even with the power cosmic involved.

The power cosmic, dimension entanglement, enlightenment between two latent and competing species, revolt against oppression, a fight for survival. I have seen these ripples of change before. A tidal wave approaches.

Now I am bored. With you, not this story.

Then let us watch.