Ontological Neologisms

A modest proposal for a new word

OK, a few weeks ago I commented on wanting to write something about time-travel generated paradoxical information loops. So I figured I’d probably better follow through before the Hounds of Tindalos track me down (OK, I’ve been doing way too much Lovecraft recently πŸ™‚

In Douglas Adams’ Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency it becomes critical for the existance of humanity that the ‘second half’ of Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s Kublah Khan is never written. To this end the characters travel back in time, and Dirk himself goes knocking on the door of Coleridge’s cottage just as he’s writing the poem (which he composed in a laudanum dream) down. Dirk keeps him talking for about half an hour, at the end of which he is unable to remember the rest of it.

(This is all based on fact – Coleridge was feverishly writing down the poem when someone – the infamous ‘Person from Porlock’ – came knocking on his door and distracted him, resulting in the poem remaining forever incomplete)

The important part of this for our purposes is Dirk’s description of his coversation with Coleridge…

“…I asked him at the end about the albatross and he said what albatross? So I said, oh it wasn’t important. The albtross did not signify. He said what albatross did not signify, and I said never mind the albatross, it didn’t matter. And he said it did matter – someone comes to his house in the middle of the night raving about albatrosses, he wanted to know why. I said blast the bloody albatross and he said he had a good mind to and he wasn’t certain that that didn’t give him an idea for a poem he was working on. Much better, he said, than being hit by an asteroid, which he thought was stretching credulity a bit…”

The albatross in question of course is from Coleridge’s other famous poem The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, in which it plays a major part.

Now, according to Adams’ story Dirk knows about the albatross because he’s familiar with the poem. However, Coleridge only put the albatross in the poem because Dirk told him about it. So where did the concept of the albatross come from? Because of the way the information loop is set up there is no actual origin for the albatross information – and yet it exists. Moreso you can point to a time when the information didn’t exist, and then to a moment when it did. But there’s no actual moment of creation. It’s an ontological paradox.

There are plenty of other examples from science fiction. The skynet chip in the Terminator series. The song Johny B. Goode in Back to the Future. Transparent Aluminium in Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home. I could probably list them all day (but why bother when Wikipedia does such a good job?). But that’s not what I’m writing this for. I’m writing this to propose a name for such information. I suggest that a unit of information that (due to an ontological paradox) has no point of origin should be called a cjelli – pronounced “suh-jelly” (this of course comes from one of Dirk Gently’s several names Svlad Cjelli).

So, that’s my neologism for the week!

Let’s Go Literary! (watch out for the shoggoths)

In Antarctica the Elder Things, An eldritch city did decree,Where great and loathly shoggoths played,Through caverns carved and strangely made,Down to a sunless sea…

To continue on from my Lovecraftian ramblings of yesterday – am I the only person in the world to notice certain similarities between Lovecraft’s At the Mountains of Madness and Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s Kubla Khan?

I first got into Coleridge when I read Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency by the sadly missed Douglas Adams (the same book also got me into Bach). KK is one of the story’s major plot elements (with The Rime of the Ancient Mariner showing its face from time to time) and the somewhat mysterious reference to the poem’s “second, stranger half” motivated me to actually get a hold of a copy and read it (I was somewhat dissapointed to discover that the “second half” doesn’t actually exist – which shows that I kind of missed the point the first time I read the book). In any case I was soon hooked on Coleridge who remains my favourite poet to this day (I still can’t hear someone talk about atheism without thinking of owletts).

(Hmmm, this talk of Dirk Gently reminds me of another piece I’ve been meaning to write about paradoxial information loops in time travel – like the albatross. I propose we call such things cjellis – but back to the matter at hand…)

So, when I cam to read At the Mountains of Madness some years later I was quite familiar with KK, and noticed a number of conceptual similarities between the poem and the novel which led me to wonder if Lovecraft drew some inspiration from Coleridge. Some brief poking around on the net has failed to turn up any discussion of this subject, so I’ve decided to go all literary and write about it here.

Probably the best way to illustrate my thesis is to run through the text of KK inserting my observations as we go. So strap yourself in kids, it’s poetry time!

Kubla Khan, or A Vision in a Dream. A Fragment. By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan,
A stately pleasure-dome decree,
Where Alph, the sacred river ran,
Through caverns measureless to man,
Down to a sunless sea,

(‘At the Mountains of Madness’ involves the discovery of the ruins of a gigantic alien city deep within Antarctica. From the description of this city “…One broad swath, extending from the plateau’s interior, to a cleft in the foothills about a mile to the left of the pass we had traversed, was wholly free from buildings. It probably represented, we concluded, the course of some great river which in Tertiary times – millions of years ago – had poured through the city and into some prodigious subterranean abyss of the great barrier range. Certainly, this was above all a region of caves, gulfs, and underground secrets beyond human penetration…”)

So twice five miles of fertile ground,
With walls and towers were girdled round,

(More about the city – “…I shuddered as the seething labyrinth of fabulous walls and towers and minarets loomed out of the troubled ice vapors above our head… there were truncated cones, sometimes terraced or fluted, surmounted by tall cylindrical shafts here and there bulbously enlarged and often capped with tiers of thinnish scalloped disks… …there were composite cones and pyramids either alone or surmounting cylinders or cubes or flatter truncated cones and pyramids, and occasional needle-like spires in curious clusters of five… …fifty miles of flight in each direction showed no major change in the labyrinth of rock and masonry that clawed up corpselike through the eternal ice…”. )

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree,
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery,

(Lovecraft mentions “luxuriant Tertiary vegetation” and “unknown jungles of Mesozoic tree ferns and fungi, and forests of Tertiary cycads, fan palms, and primitive angiosperms” surrounding the city)

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted,
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted,

(Lovecraft describes “…the canyon where that broad river had once pierced the foothills and approached its sinking place in the great range…” and later on “..It appeared that this general region was the most sacred spot of all, where reputedly the first Old Ones had settled on a primal sea bottom”)

As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted,
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

(It’s a stretch I know, but these lines remind me of the wind “…through the desolate summits swept ranging, intermittent gusts of the terrible Antarctic wind; whose cadences sometimes held vague suggestions of a wild and half-sentient musical piping, with notes extending over a wide range, and which for some subconscious mnemonic reason seemed to me disquieting and even dimly terrible…”)

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced,
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst,
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail,
And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever,
It flung up momently the sacred river,

(“The vast dead megalopolis that yawned around us seemed to be the last general center of the race – built early in the Cretaceous Age after a titanic earth buckling had obliterated a still vaster predecessor not far distant”)

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion,
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean,

(To quote, “In the course of ages the caves had appeared… with the advance of still later epochs, all the limestone veins of the region were hollowed out by ground waters, so that the mountains, the foothills, and the plains below them were a veritable network of connected caverns and galleries… this vast nighted gulf had undoubtedly been worn by the great river which flowed down from the nameless and horrible westward mountains, and which had formerly turned at the base of the Old Ones’ range… little by little it had eaten away the limestone hill base at its turning, till at last its sapping currents reached the caverns of the ground waters and joined with them in digging a deeper abyss. Finally its whole bulk emptied into the hollow hills… [they] had carved into ornate pylons those headlands of the foothills where the great stream began its descent into eternal darkness…”)

And ‘mid this tumult Kubla heard from far,
Ancestral voices prophesying war!

(The final war between the Elder Things and their shoggoth servants perhaps? This took place in the underground sea. Or just the echoing ‘Tekeli-li!’?)

The shadow of the dome of pleasure,
Floated midway on the waves,
Where was heard the mingled measure,
From the fountain and the caves,
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

(By the time of the novel the entire city is buried in the Antarctic ice cap – much of the story takes place in “caves of ice”)

A damsel with a dulcimer,
In a vision once I saw,
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora,
Could I revive within me,
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ‘twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

(I could draw an analogy here between the author rebuilding the city after being charmed by music, and the shogoths building the city after being charmed by hypnosis – but that’s probably pushing it a bit isn’t it? πŸ™‚

And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

(This could pass as a description of a shoggoth – “the nightmare, plastic column of fetid black iridescence oozed tightly onward… gathering unholy speed and driving before it a spiral, rethickening cloud of the pallid abyss vapor… a shapeless congeries of protoplasmic bubbles, faintly self-luminous, and with myriads of temporary eyes forming and un-forming as pustules of greenish light…)

Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,

(Suggesting that this is a reference to the Elder Sign would just be cheeky πŸ™‚

For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise,

So there we go, some notable coincidences (and some not so notable). But probably the best evidence that Lovecraft was at least thinking of Kubla Khan in some capacity while writing At the Mountains of Madness is the following quote…

“Many graphic sculptures told of explorations deep underground, and of the final discovery of the Stygian sunless sea that lurked at earth’s bowels”

OK, it’s a stock phrase, but certainly Lovecraft would have known where it came from and must have considered the similarities between his narrative and the poem – at least in passing.

So yeah. Next week I’ll demonstrate how Dracula is based on Wordsworth’s I wandered lonely as a cloud and the Matrix trilogy on Shelley’s Ozymandius πŸ˜‰

PS: Questions for the advanced student. Where exactly did Coleridge’s dream come from? And do we really want to know what might be living in Lake Vostok? πŸ™‚

Mice and Men

I’m either a mouse or a man and things are ganging aft aglay

Things did not go at all to plan this week.

It was Justin’s 30th on Saturday (well, technically it was last week but he had the party on Saturday night) and I was really looking forwards to it because he’d decided on a Roman theme. This meant that I could go all out on obsessive historical detail and generally just enjoy being a history nerd. So I spent a good deal of time brushing up on my Latin and getting to work on costume ideas.

I also decided that rather than bring along a boring, paper birthday card I’d make a replica Roman writing board (a tabula) and inscribe a birthday message on it in Latin (a project that required a fair bit of carpentry and melting of wax on the stove). I also dressed up a perfectly good bottle of Devil’s Lair Fifth Leg as LATIBVLVM DIABOLI – CRVS QVINTVM and wrote out a little Latin speech to recite while handing them over (which I can’t find right now, otherwise I’d type it out).

For my costume I considered a number of options including putting on white face makeup and dressing up like Marilyn Manson (a Goth! – get it? Get it? No, no one else would have either). But in the end I decided to do the same as everyone else and go with the toga. But, no bedsheet for me! I purchased a good length of fabric (black – because I thought I’d both be an individual and carry through the goth joke a bit) to do it properly and with a bit of messing around in front of the bathroom mirror got it looking pretty damn spiffy. So, by Friday evening I was all set and looking forwards to a great night.

Then I woke up on Saturday morning with the head cold from hell >:|

I tried every trick I know to get rid of it, but by Saturday night I could hardly stand upright. Needless to say living it up as a Roman wasn’t an option so instead I had to sit at home and sulk. Very dissapointing!

(I did send my gifts on with Ryan though and they apparently went down quite well.)

So I spent most of yesterday doing my best to recover – which I managed to do pretty well really. If I’d got sick on Friday I would have been right for the party on Saturday!

So anyway today I got up, had breakfast, did some poking around on the net, and then was struck down by a massive migraine. Happily some ibuprofen and a few hours of sleep seem to have tamed it somewhat, but it’s still annoying. Once again the universe shows that it does not intent me to enjoy my Mondays off. *sigh*

So what else have I been up to? Last Sunday – which is to say not yesterday but the one before – I got together with the guys at Fabian’s for some gaming goodness, and to draw up a character for Matt in my long dormant Post-Nuclear-Western-Semi-Steam-Punk-South-West GURPS game (try saying that three times fast). It was a pretty good day, I got to do some more testing on some game systems I’ve come up with and there was pizza. Then on Thursday night I stopped over at Matt’s new place (which as it turns out is just up the road from work) to help him out with some website stuff. Unfortunately I managed to miss the last bus to Subiaco, leaving my only choice for getting home a bus to the Terrace and a dash through the dark and empty city in the freezing rain to the train station. Since the city can be a bit dodgy at night (that’s when the mole-men – and worse things – come out) I took the coward’s option and called the parents for a lift. This meant standing around outside in the freezing rain for a while, but at least there was little risk of being chased down and eaten by morlocks πŸ™‚

An interesting consequence of this adventure was that Matt leant me his copy of Delta Green. By strange coincidence while pottering around the net yesterday I stumbled over A Colder War by Charles Stross. Immediately I was gobsmacked by the idea for a 1980’s cold war version of Delta Green. Take out the Greys and all the X-Files style conspiracy stuff, and set it in a world where all the Governments know exactly what’s hidden in Antarctica, but have agreed to keep it hidden from their citizens (under the Dresden Agreement), while at the same time trying to turn the mythos into weapons. The Red Army deploying shoggoths in Afganistan, Saddam Hussein invoking Yog-Sothoth against Iran, the CIA smuggling heroin through Elder Things gate networks and the USAF building nuclear powered bombers to take care of that mysterious bunker in Ukraine – should it ever became necessary.

The players would be part of a covert-ops team (working for the Government, no need for the whole ‘secret war’ theme) covering up ‘incidents’ and trying to hijack/derail the other side’s research programs without causing ‘incidents’ of their own. Sort of Tom Clancy meets H.P.Lovecraft. I reckon there’s a lot of potential there for someone to run a majorly kick-ass campaign if someone where to put it together.

Unfortunately though ‘someone’ is not going to be me. I have more than enough on my hands with my GURPS campaign, and was never that good at running Cthulhu anyway – I’m not ruthless enough to acurately protray Lovecraft’s bleak universe. My games tended to turn into “kill the monsters and be home in time for tea and crumpets what what old fellow?”.

So yeah that’s what’s been fizzing in my brain for the last 24 hours. Hmmm, maybe that’s got something to do with the migraine… πŸ˜€

Small, Vague Observations

Exactly what it says on the box

The headline on today’s West Australian is Battling Farmers Join Road Gangs. I had momentary visions of farmers pulling on chains and leather jackets and terrorising the highways on converted tractors, Mad Max style.

According to Slashdot Yahoo! music is thinking of selling MP3s without DRM. If true this is seriously big news for me – the reason I’ve steered clear of legal music downloads to date is the ridiculous amounts of crippleware the companies attach to the files. If Yahoo! Music is going to sell plain, vanilla MP3 files then I’ll happily pay for them. That’s the upside – the downside is that the only example so far is a Jessica Simpson song (blech!)

Selecting a muzak version of Achy Breaky Heart as your ringtone should be made a crime against humanity – particularly if you intend to take your phone out in public.

While The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba is one of the most perfect pieces of music ever composed, Holst’s Thaxted is probably the best tune ever written.

 

Kill me Now!

Being nice is not really all it’s cracked up to be

*Sigh* By dint of being much too nice, I’ve gone and got myself mixed up in an enterprise I really don’t want to have anything to do with.

Two doors down from me in the complex is a Chinese woman with minimal English skills. We met a few months ago when she managed to lock herself out of her unit and I rung around a few locksmiths to try and get someone to come out and let her in. This act of charity however seems to have nominated me as the go-to guy for any kind of problem she has. Like the current one for instance.

Apparently her roommate is moving out. She wants to advertise for someone new but (with her as mentioned minimal English skills) doesn’t really know how to go about it. So, she came knocking on my door. Now (through a combination of, as mentioned, being too nice and only understanding about every third sentence she speaks) I find myself having to phone up the newspaper and get a quote for an add, and basically having to co-ordinate the whole thing. Which is majorly stressful and seriously something I don’t need right at the moment.

I would dearly like to ditch the whole thing and tell her to sort it out herself, but how can you really do that?

This is all going to end badly, I can tell πŸ™

Mental Maladjustments

What’s wrong with my brain.

On the whole my brain is pretty good. It seems to store and processes information fairly effectively. But every now and then things go badly wrong, and sometimes they’re rather hard to fix.

One such problem is a major indexing error between musical artists Missy Higgins and Missy Elliot. Whenever anyone mentions Missy Elliot, my brain serves up information on Missy Higgins instead. So far I’ve been able to cover for this, but sooner or later someone is going to ask me what my favourite Missy Elliot track is, and I’m going to say something like “Well, how can you go past Scar?” and then I’ll have no choice but to die of humiliation.

A similar problem occurs with the word wingardium. This is a double indexing error – depending on time of day and general mood, my brain either identifies this as Latin or Anglo-Saxon. It’s neither. It’s from Harry Potter. Which (if I ever got into serious conversation with some linguists) could be almost as humiliating as the multiple Missy problem.

I don’t really know how to fix these. Possibly a low level format, like a serious blow to the head or drinking three bottles of Wild Turkey in a row πŸ™‚

Sick and Miserable

Oh, just kill me now.

No big update because I’ve spent the last two days huddled up under a blanket with the flu. Well, not the flu really, just a cold, but it’s very unpleasant none the less. Running nose, sore throat, shivery aches and pains, the usual. I didn’t get much sleep last night because every time I swallowed my throat hurt like hell. Closing my mouth and breathing through my nose helped a little – but at least one nostril was always clogged and I couldn’t get enough air. So tossing and turning and wishing I was dead was pretty much the only option.

I’m starting to wonder if this whole taking-one-day-a-fortnight off is such a good idea. My first day off was a public holiday (so everything was shut and I couldn’t do anything), my second was spent in agony after pulling a back muscle in my sleep, and today was all illness and sleep deprivation. It’s as if the universe is trying to tell me something.

(I was actually planning to get a lot done today too – like posting long delayed packages to various people – but I guess it’ll have to wait until next weekend now)

I would try and write something witty – but I’m too sick. So I’m going to bed instead. Bah.

They can ALL read my thoughts!

Spam from the Sandman.

In keeping with my current Neil Gaiman obsession I finished reading Sandman number seven Brief Lives last night. Today I come into work and find two pieces of spam waiting for me with the subject lines “destruction compromise” and “temple head”.

What is going on!?!?

(I don’t have to work this Monday so expect a decent update this weekend)

Those Rash Madmen at the Unicode Consortium

Secrets man was not meant to know and educational television.

Oh Tensor, how you consistently crack me up!

Did I mention that the ABC has started showing Time Team on Tuesdays? The archeology may be a bit slapdash (or so Helen said once anyway, and she should know) but it’s hosted by Baldrick (um… Tony Robinson I mean, obviously), it’s really interesting (for an archeology/history nerd such as myself) and it often features a rather cute Cornish osteoarcheologist. So all in all a pretty good watch. Six o’clock, Tuesday nights on ABC for those interested.

(I assume she’s Cornish based on her accent and repeated viewings of Doc Martin. She could probably be from anywhere in the West Country.)

PS: There’s a Monkey Island in the Thames!?!

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