Forbidden Planet

Taken from this post at 101 Reasons to Stop Writing .

In the not-productive-but-sidetrack-distraction-of-the-moment I spent some time (please don't ask how much) translating two sentences from Tacitus' Agricola from Latin into English using an online Latin-English dictionary and what Latin roots I can glean out of English words. It wasn't a completely blind translation since I already had a translation for the above line: To ravage, to slaughter, to usurp under false titles, they call empire; and where they make a desert, they call it peace. . However, I wasn't completely captivated by the English and it didn't quite seem to match the Latin. After some searches for alternate translations, I came up with a fuller quote, Raptores orbis, postquam cuncta vastantibus defuere terrae, mare scrutantur: si locuples hostis est, avari, si pauper, ambitiosi, quos non Oriens, non Occidens satiaverit: soli omnium opes atque inopiam pari adfectu concupiscunt. Auferre trucidare rapere falsis nominibus imperium, atque ubi sol...

is the title of a fictional poem I quoted from in a play I wrote in 1985, for a course called Theatre and Drama . I was 19. Below are the 3 lines I quoted from it. Even then, I could be pretty morose. At times fear does seem more to be the enemy than the empty darkness which beckons us to our death. Oh, foolish mortal! Can you not see or has the darkness entered your eyes? See how the fool does dare to trek across the open hand of Death. I also came across a book of compositions from Grade 5. As you can see, my penmanship and artistic skills were a little on the challenged side. Feb 21 BEING A MALE MOSQUITO If I were a mosquito I would be small and I wouldn’t bite people yet one day someone will succeed in killing me. The captions are: HATCHING and KILLED Image credit: Richard of Forbidden Planet

Today is the Easter Vigil, when we wait for Christ to rise from the dead. Many Christian traditions recite the Apostles' or Nicene Creed, which contain the lines He was crucified, died and was buried. He descended to dead. On the third day he rose again. Some translations use the word Hell instead of dead . One of the apocryphal pieces of literature, The Acts of Pilate (popularly renamed The Gospel of Nicodemus during the Middle Ages, tells of Christ's descent into the dead. t was written sometime between the mid 2 nd and mid 3 rd centuries and reflects a particular understanding of the events surrounding Jesus' death and resurrection among early Christians sometime around 100 to 200 years after the fact. The text paints an unflattering picture of Jewish involvement in Jesus' death. Below is my retelling of Christ's descent into Hell. Even though it is not canonical, I find it a very beautiful, moving and inspiring work of early Christianity. (As it is my retel...

it's just that I wanted to live; to enjoy life in all its fullness." Rowan Yew, age 43, a first class dilettante and entrepreneur, lay in his bed, covered up to his chin, in his darkened bedroom. Attending him were his friends, Dr. Jason Reselda, the eminent pathologist, and Gabriel Malachi, the no less distinguished geneticist. While all three were super-achievers, Rowan led the pack; his power, opulence and extravagance a testament to his ability to seize opportunities and profit from them. He did nothing by half measures and never considered failure as a possible outcome. "That's good to hear, because dying is just what you are doing", said Jason. "Are you sure?" "I see no other outcome. The last sample I examined continues to show an expanding infection. In fact, you are more pathogen than man. You should have been dead long ago." "Then perhaps I am not dying." "You're dying alright. Shortly you will cease to be a ...

Borrowing and modifying an idea from Ingrid , I present 14 bits of information about myself. Seven are real. Seven are false. This is also partially inspired by Carra 's post about weird things about herself. When I was into model rocketry, I used to roll my own rocket engines and make my own rocket fuel. I often had "catastrophic" engine failure. I have never been intoxicated. Not even a little bit "happy". I have had the privilege and pleasure of going out with women from every continent except Antarctica (for the obvious reason there are no indigenous Antarcticans). I volunteered one Christmas at a soup kitchen. I naively believed that such simple acts of generosity helped people over temporary setbacks until they could get back on their feet. The reality was these people were pretty wretched and needed far more than a ladled bowl of soup, a slice of turkey, some stuffing, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce to get them "over the hump". It was a sta...

I have noticed that Google translation is much better than it was in the past, surpassing BabelFish in capability. As evidence I present the following translations from Jules Verne's Five Weeks in a Ballooon . Original text Il y avait une grande affluence d’auditeurs, le 14 janvier 1862, à la séance de la Société royale géographique de Londres, Waterloo place, 3. Le président, sir Francis M..., faisait à ses honorables collègues une importante communication dans un discours fréquemment interrompu par les applaudissements. Ce rare morceau d’éloquence se terminait enfin par quelques phrases ronflantes dans lesquelles le patriotisme se déversait à pleines périodes: Google translation: There was a large crowd of listeners, January 14, 1862, at the meeting of the Royal Geographical Society of London, Waterloo place, 3. The chairman, Sir Francis M. .., made his honorable colleagues an important communication in a speech frequently interrupted by applause. This rare piece of eloquence fin...

I’ve changed. I am not the same person you knew," she said. "I don’t believe that. People don’t change; they just become more like themselves. I know you. I believe you are still the same person," he said. "I am not. I have done ... I do things you would not approve of," she said. "Do you do them because they are right?" he asked. "No." "Do you do them because they are good?" he asked. She lowered her eyes, "No." "Do you do them because you are hurt, angry, upset and frustrated? Lashing out at an unfair universe?" Her eyes moved to look into his. Searching him, probing the years, his convictions. They no longer shone with the brilliance of youth. There were wrinkles around them and gray in his eyebrows. He was older. She was too. Everyone was. The idealism and hope and optimism of youth a long and distant memory. As she searched, the years between them seemed, for an instant, to vanish and she was back in a happ...

One of the great things about meeting people, even if only virtually, is learning new things. For instance, I have learned that Singaporeans speak very good English, they all seem to have at least one blog (many have multiple) and they have a local dialect referred to as Singlish. Singlish tends to be characterized by its simplicity and directness. As the follwoing shamelessly cribbed from dandan 's site illustrates: WHEN GIVING A CUSTOMER BAD NEWS Britons: I'm sorry, Sir, but we don't seem to have the sweater you want in your size, but if you give me a moment, I can call the other outlets for you. S'pore: No Stock. RETURNING A CALL Britons: Hello, this is John Smith. Did anyone page for me a few moments ago? S'pore: Hello, who page? ASKING SOMEONE TO MAKE WAY . Britons: Excuse me, I'd like to get by. Would you please make way? S'pore: S-kew me WHEN SOMEONE OFFERS TO PAY Britons: Hey, put your wallet away, this drink is on me. S'pore: No-need, la...

Are you ever sitting, maybe eating, maybe reading, maybe doing something else fairly quiet and notice a movement out of the corner of your eye? You turn and there is nothing there. Does it happen to you frequently? It has been happening to me a lot, in the house in Ottawa, over the past week. Many times each evening, I will perceive a movement and when I turn to look - nothing. Almost nothing. It is fast. It vanishes without a trace; leaving me frustrated as I hunt for it because I know it was there. At first, I thought I was going mad. But I have seen them. I know they are there and I am not mad. It is not alone. There are many of them and as I hunt for one, another will tease me from the periphery of my vision, distracting me, pulling me away from my prey. But I am persistent. I have caught some and killed them. I will catch them all and destroy them. They beckon me and I follow them. I pursue them throughout the house. I don't know where they came from, but I know where I am sen...

Despite my abject social skills, I did manage to make some friends while at University. Some came from various regions of Canada, though many were from overseas. I would say the majority where from overseas. At the end of the school year, when people were returning home, I would get their address (note, I only get addresses of people I am interested in. I am not polite enough to ask for an addresses I do not intend to use). I would then write a letter and mail it a week before they left, so the letter would arrive around the same time they did. It was a real letter, several pages long, no an anemic postcard with a trite “Welcome Home!” message along with "Don't forget to keep in touch" admonishment. I thought they would appreciate receiving a letter; knowing that they had not been forgotten once leaving Canada. Maybe it was naïve, but it was remarkably effective. I always received effusive replies of thanks back. Now there is only one left and pen and paper have long sin...

"When Columbus returned from the new world and proclaimed the earth was round, almost everyone else went right on believing the world was flat. Then they died - and the next generation grew up believing the world was round. That's how people change their minds." Art & Fear : Observations On The Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking by David Bayles and Ted Orland This is a pretty good book if you are interested in thoughts and observations on artists and art making. It is a short book, but it has a number of interesting passages. "The poem in the head is always perfect. Resistance begins when you try to convert it into language" - Stanley Kunitz quoted in the above mentioned book. "... most artists don't daydream about making great art - they daydream about having made great art. What artist has not experienced the feverish euphoria of composing the perfect thumbnail sketch, first draft, negative, or melody - only to run headlong into a stone wall ...

Photo credit: Richard of Forbidden Planet (picture was taken at the Canadian Museum of Civilization )

But they are not by nature friendly, sociable people. Writers are by nature people who observe other people being friendly and sociable and then go home and mock them. . . . They are also egomaniacs. But they express their egomania by bossing their characters around and creating worlds; in real life, they're used to not being listened to." - Alex Epstein, Crafty TV Writing: Thinking Inside the Box Image reused from a previous post , though I am still no more knowledgeable as to where I picked it up.

- Heather Sellers, Page After Page , Chapter 6: Sleeping With Books

If you enjoy languages and the beauty of the written word, I suggest you take a peek at Omniglot: writing systems and languages of the world . I could easily spend hours poring over the scripts. Dhives Akuru Mongolian Both images are taken from the website. [Update 27-July-2007 @ 00:13 to add better sample of Dhives Akuru script.]

because you like his work is like wanting to meet a duck because you like paté." , Margaret Atwood, Negotiating with the Dead: A Writer on Writing

When writing by hand, I prefer to use a pencil instead of a pen. Though, if I am forced to use a pen (as at work), I prefer an easy flowing medium ballpoint (I would love to try out a large ballpoint, but have not found one). I absolutely cannot stand fine or ultrafine ballpoints – they are only good for ripping pages – besides which, the ink never properly flows out of them. The same goes for those mechanical pencils with the fine leads (0.5mm et al.). I like a nice wood pencil with six sides. It can be yellow or blue or natural in colour. The colour doesn't matter. More specifically, I like an F pencil. I can manage with a 2H, but I find it a bit too hard. After sharpening the point, I draw curves and lines to get the point gently rounded for use. I like the feel of the pencil as it glides along the page. I like the look of the letters and words and strokes.

Winter. Spring. Summer. Fall. Normal grammar rules state these words are not to be capitalized (unless used at the beginning of a sentence, naturally). I think that is wrong. I love to capitalize the names of the seasons. So, I often, deliberately, break the rule when writing. Yesterday was a very warm Spring day. It got up to 25C (77F).

Why? Because we really, really want to. The truth does not sell very well. It is an ugly, sweaty thing requiring work and discipline. We want to believe there is an electrical device that, when strapped onto our love handles, will give us a meaty abdominal six-pack while sitting on our fat asses eating Milk Duds. We do not like the truth because it is simple, we do not want the truth because it is hard, and we do not trust the truth because it is free." - Pat Walsh, 78 reasons why your book may never be published and 14 reasons why it just might , excerpted from Reason #38: You Fell for Self-Publishing Hype I highly recommend this book and The First Five Pages by Noah Lukeman as must reads for anyone who wants to write and get published (or, like me, who dreams of writing and getting published one day). They give a lot of food for thought. Now, all I need is some electronic device I can strap to the back of my head to short out my inhibitory reflexes and get me to just do it (ac...