Who Criticizes The Critics?

By their very definition, a critic is a person who judges, evaluates, or analyzes literary or artistic works.

In the field of cinema--which is what I am concentrating on in this post--I have no problem whatsoever with this process, as I am neither a teenage fanboy, or an idiot.

Fact is, critical analysis matters: the arts and various creative mediums at work within the world invite discussion, and merit it because by their very existence they reveal valuable truths about the human condition and the society in which we operate.

And of course, to a lesser extent, analysis allows us to gauge whether or not we would enjoy the piece in question--which for those of us whose free time comes at a high premium, can be a more than helpful addition.

What I take issue with (read: what irritates) with regards to critics, are those who've apparently, and comprehensively, lost sight of the intrinsic subjectiveness of their being, resulting in them objectifying their verdict and quite literally transplanting their experience of the movie onto the reader.

So what you inevitably end up with are meaningless statements, juvenile attempts at psycho-analysis, and plain out insulting.

A case in point:

"This despicable trash will find an audience among sad sociopaths, deranged pseudo-intellectuals and brutalised, immature men of all ages. I just hope that there aren't enough of them to make it a hit. If there are, God help cinema. "

Naturally it's all very well written and suitably verbose--as you would expect it to be--but to the discerning observer it reveals little more than a complete asshat at work.

Let it be known (!), I absolutely adored Watchmen (pictured above). For me, it was a spectacle that dazzled and engaged in equal measure. Though I've never read the graphic novel on which it is based, I nevertheless found its characters interesting and, in one case--the case of the God-like Doctor Manhattan--thoroughly fascinating.

I do not take kindly to being told the reasons why I would enjoy this film, and not simply because those reasons were derogatory, either. The human psyche is more complex than that--and nobody, nobody, on this planet possesses such absolute and total knowledge about the human mind and its many and multi-faceted nuances to reach such unanimous conclusions.

But they do, and they continue to do so. And there's a very good reason why--and it's this: just like the characters in Watchmen, critics, regardless of their position and powers, are just like you and I.

I.e. some of them are--to repeat my previous usage of the word--complete asshats.

Hi Dad

;)

Deus Ex

Richard Dawkins is a man I both like and, to some degree, respect.

Yet, despite this; despite his obvious intellectual capacity, knowledge of the world and tireless crusade against human stupidity, I suspect--based on the authenticity of my metaphysical experiences and the habitually beneficial practices I'm routinely involved in--that he is reaching ridiculously misguided conclusions born from an incomplete and flawed understanding of reality as it actually is.

He operates in a wholly different domain to my own: He of the respected scientist, author and skeptic-thinker domain; I of the practicing-metaphysicist, forum-poster and open-minded domain. And yet, despite the chasm that seemingly separates us, we share a mutual commonality: we both aspire exclusively to the absolute truth of all things.

We just go about it in a different way.

No doubt he would have as much to criticize in my approach as I do in his. His a skeptical bent: a worker bee of current scientific understanding of the world and mankind, intrinsically enslaved within the paradigm, constrained, inflexible thinking resultant from a machine-like education. What has no yet been comprehensively proven is then de-valued and fully-disregarded. Reality itself supersedes the human entity.

I on the other hand, whilst still championing critical, intelligent-thinking and evidence (usually more empirical-based, obviously), have a different approach: The human entity--which, at its greatest extent, is beautiful and dynamic, possessing extraordinary capacities for thought, feeling and creativity--is of primary importance. Why is it like it is? What is the ceiling of its abilities? What is the ceiling for experiences beyond the domain of the known? These are the questions that truly matter, beyond the superficial realm of textbooks, laboratories and cold, rigid reason that so constrain our true potential. For if there is a ghost in the machine, an essence at the wheel of the human creature--hypnotized by this one reality--then internal exploration of self is imperative.

I find there to be something disquieting in the total faith attributed to the brain's assimilation of the external world that Dawkins and people like him so adhere to. Science, supposedly, is the progressive study and comprehensive understanding of reality, or some sorta shit like that (Harry and Paul reference, sorry). However, the fact is, to each and every human being, reality is a window in the dark echelons of the brain. Sensory information is electrical signals derived from the eyes, nose, ears and body. The life we perpetually habitualize--the external world played out inside us--is but an elaborate illusion. Thusly, everything we experience therein, within that framework, is forever--or, should I say, should be--tainted.

But, of course, that is not what occurs: The ghost in the machine--the real "I"; the POV self--is transfixed by the view screen in the brain. This is the way the vast majority of us live. Like a hardcore gamer playing Halo 24 hours straight, it buys into the illusion, forgets itself. Believes itself to be Master Chief.

The skeptic's belief in the view screen is unshakable and total, and therein lies their eternal fallacy. The armchair skeptic, especially, should be pitied.

People like Dawkins continue to wonder why the masses 'delude' themselves with superstitious nonsense and spiritual beliefs, and this is why: on some level, we possess a knowing that we are more than what we appear or think ourselves to be--that we are simply viewing, and perceiving this reality, not truly living it. Regardless of some of the crazy ideas and notions people attach to this knowing, regardless of the belief systems used, the fact remains there is a part of us that transcends the organism. People like Dawkins, while providing a definite usefulness, have fallen for the illusion hook, line and sinker, and they want everyone else to likewise do so. Their imagined utopia is but a dream of soul imprisonment. And we must fight against it.

The Matrix is a film, but nonetheless, there is a great, great truth to it, as there is often found in fiction. I think back to my Astral Projections, those wonderful out of body experiences, and I know now why they felt so real: because I was no longer simply perceiving a reality through a machine, I was directly interconnected and absorbed into it; unrestricted and fully, poetically free. There is an experiential purity to it that I will never be able to describe. All this Projection talk of "sensory confusion" is ridiculous--the fact that projectors' experience of the external world is different to the one habitually experienced through the brain-machine unsurprising. Projection is the real Real.

Ultimately, there is a ghost in the machine: and I would stake my testicles on that being the case.

Fin.

Fringe

It wasn't the most auspicious of beginnings by any means, but after 3 episodes of promising, yet altogether moderate science-fiction fare, Fringe finally came of age this week with its 4th episode "The Arrival".

Michael Cerveris (pictured above) puts in a truly astonishing performance as "The Observer"--ostensible inter dimensional, "Men In Black" type being, that, whatever he lacks in eyebrows and taste buds, makes up for with mysterious mind-reading powers. It's all very reminiscent of The Mothman Prophecies; the overriding sense that he doesn't simply reside outside of our reality domain--he sits above it; at an altitude that affords him superior comprehension.

This is an intelligent, meticulously-studied portrait of a being not of our world; one who is attempting to blend in as if he were just another cog in the system, yet not quite getting it right. For an individual such as me whose interest in fringe science and metaphysics goes beyond mere hobby, it is truly wonderful to see the subject approached with this level of thought, conviction and intelligence, and to see it realized so well.

Anybody can create science fiction and fantasy. Making it resonate with a certain truthfulness, despite its fantastical nature--that's the tricky part. So my hat goes off to J.J. Abrams, who continues to impress with shows that intrigue, and generate philosophical and metaphysical debate.

If you have any interest in this subject at all, you need to watch this show. After a slow start, its potential is slowly beginning to be realized--indeed, there's even there murmur of greatness emanating from deep inside the catacombs. This ain't no X-Files clone, it's something... more.

Check it out.

Multiple Braingasms Anyone?

There's no easy way to say this... so I think the best thing for me to do is just to come right out and say it, warts and all:

I'm somewhat sexually-attracted to the Grays.

And by that I mean, a little. Tiny. Microscopic even. Honestly, it barely even registers.

...

OK OK, I lie: I want to stroke their chins with one of their probe devices, whilst engaged in mind ping-pong with their fatha.

Yes, I know this is wrong, but ask yourself THIS: is anal wrong?

Well?

Thought so. You can't judge me. The end.

But anyway, I don't know how much or to what extent this sexual attraction is in effect: I just know that my fascination in them goes beyond vague, existential curiosity. It's more complex, more multifaceted than simply "omg, sentient, extraterrestrial beings!!!!111".

It's conceivable this deep interest stems from the possible alien abduction I had as a kid; an event so extraordinarily unreal and frightening that I ended up losing consciousness from the paralytic effect of it all. For those who aren't familiar with this sunny little anecdote of mine, it goes a little like this *plays weird xylophone ditty* A witch on a broomstick phased through the door that led to the kitchen--what ensued was approximately 5 minutes of utter, paranormal horror as this witch proceeded to stare at me while she hovered above the floor. I eventually lost consciousness, and was greeted by blackness. I can vividly recall it to this very day: not merely darkness, but emptiness. As if something was removed (i.e. memories).

The event last month made one thing clear, these creatures know you. You are as naked to them as a dog is in the company of humans, perhaps more so. When they look at you they understand you and therein lies the horror: there is nowhere to hide; no part of your psyche that you can retreat to and regroup. You are an open book in an unknown library where humans were never meant to tread.

They didn't physically manifest around me on that night (in case you assumed that was the case from my writing--though I should point out I've had Remote Viewing experiences in the past where they have 'scanned' the contents of my mind)--probably because I asked them, nay pleaded with them not to--but they were as visible as they could be without ever actually being visible. I could feel their monstrous presences, electrifying the very fabric of my reality--so too did I see them clearly and vividly with my mind. Anything more than that and I would have surely suffered... oh how I would have suffered. It is as Whitley Streiber described in his book, Communion--to witness a real alien in motion, fully animated, is a traumatizing experience. The human brain is born from a world where such things are never meant to be witnessed, to do so is to be faced with primal parts of self hitherto locked away.

Yet while I fear them--an animalistic kind of innate fear, one I cannot control--I am nevertheless intrigued beyond all measure. It's to the bewildering extent that I am prepared to throw myself into the deep end in order to face this incomprehensible challenge, despite the gravity of it never being so tangible and within my grasp as it is now. I want this experience, even though I know what it will demand of me, what it will take from me and what it will do to me. I want it because I am the type of person that needs to know, and because I want my mind expanded and my reality to be ripped asunder. I want communion.

Scroll down the page and glance at that photo of Joan Allen. Notice anything? Well, you probably didn't, but I picked up earlier that the shape of her head is remarkably similar to that of the Gray's. OK, so the cranium is, obviously, less pronounced, but the basic shape, with the pointed chin, is about right. Maybe that's why I'm only ever attracted to a very specific type of woman: they remind me of hybrids.

Err... OK, that's enough weirdness for now. Except to say that I'll be contacting them tonight, so wish me luck. Lolz. Bai.

Alien Technology

I saw a documentary today; entitled UFO Files: The Gray's Agenda. Thought it was competently produced and enjoyable, if a little sensationalistic.

Two noteworthy points:

1. An alien abductee reported that her abductions were commonly preceded by either a burst of blue light, or amber light.

Now, I should point out that during my ET event I had my eyes closed, yet all the same this does appear to correlate with my own experience (the beam I witnessed was blue). Based on how comprehensively exposed and 'lit-up' I felt, it was clearly a scanning technology of sorts--a conclusion later verified by the procedure performed on my leg. Interestingly, another abductee reported how the Grays used something similar during medical procedures conducted on-board their ship; he said, in effect, that the beam pervaded his body and seemed to light up every particle and atom. In my own case, the beam produced an interesting effect when it hit me, a type of internal 'seeing-awareness'. In an instant I was presented with the source of the beam: an emitter on the cornerstone of the craft. I saw it clearly: a wide-field, holographic-esque blue beam stretching outwardly to my physical body's location. Very cool, though not something I was particularly able to revel in, in light of my present predicament (that being the sudden sensation of multiple presences sifting around me).

I posit that my reaction to the beam was neither psychic, or--for that matter--of the mind. It was a defense mechanism. That is to say, whatever the underlying technology powering the beam, it operated on a similar 'frequency' to that of my energy field/chakric system, and the two coming together caused 'feedback' on my part.

Before I move onto the second point, there's something I want to bring up, something I didn't bring up originally and which I feel like I should. During the operation on my leg, I did experience some pain. Now, it certainly wasn't extreme pain, and in light of the fact that the problem with my leg--which I had suffered for the best part of a year--had been resolved, I found it acceptable. All the same, there were sensations of bits of bone and sinew being dug out, and the occasional sharp pang. It was more uncomfortable than anything.

2. During the part of the documentary detailing various supposedly leaked official documents, two different EBEs were profiled: the first, the typical Gray type, the second, a more humanoid type.

I can't be arsed to go look for it right now (it's nearly 5am, time-fans), but in one of my threads at AS I mention a humanoid, cherub-esque alien. If I recall, I communicated with him/it during one of my deep meditations, and cool stuff ensued.

This is exactly the same type shown on the documentary--though the rendition failed to capture the brilliant white of its skin, but, y'know, that was always bound to happen. I'd like to say I was pleasantly surprised seeing him on TV, but that wasn't the case. After 7 close encounters and the recent experience, I know without a shadow of a doubt that they're out there-- so when I get confirmation I'm no longer surprised, I'm just like, ya...ok.

Hiros

Pseudo-philosophy, religious bunkum and throwaway fortune cookie wisdom--oh, and fucking your BRAIN with CG super powers-- yes, it can only mean one thing: Heroes is back! Let's be honest from the get-go here: after its predominantly mediocre second season, the show has long since lost its allure. Hiro pansy footing around in Feudal Japan? Worst. Decision. Ever. The character works because the actor playing him is a hugely affable screen presence. We like him because he's clearly having fun, his boyish enthusiasm is infectious. Take him out of his element, however--and ask him to act--and the results are predictably uninvolving. Don't make the same mistake again, Kreig... or Krige... err (look, I forget how it's spelt, alwite'?--I only know it's one weird-ass surname).

Beyond all expectations, the two hour season opener was both engrossing and entertaining. Oh sure, it was no season one, but the impression persists that this season will be the Last Crusade to season one's Raiders of the Lost Ark (season two being, eek, Temple of Doom). The Rule Of Three (it's non-specific?)--my rule fashioned exclusively for this Blog entry--remains intact: Bwahahah.

Elsewhere, things aren't quite as promising: Lex Luther--he of alcoholic beverage shenanigans, sly emoting and sitting by fireplaces in the dark--has left Smallville. He will be sorely missed. The show, restructured as it is, is gradually beginning to resemble Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman, only without that sonfoffabitch Dean Cain on-board (an eternal blessing), and with (slightly, mind) less camp. I hope there's a guest appearance by Clark's barn later in the season; it deserves... that much. *Sniff*