Category Archives: Psychology

Your Favorite: a stand-up round

Where I’m working, we have morning stand-ups: a quick meeting where 10 -/+ of us round the room explaining yesterday’s and today’s tasks. Everyone takes a monthly turn at leading. June is my month. So, first off, I built a spinner to pick who goes first:

Spinner

Then, I provided a list of topics that each person could volunteer their favorite. Each day a different topic:

Favorite…

  • Media
    • Movies
    • Books, stories, games
    • Media star or fictional character – hero, villain or
    • Fictional location – in what fictional land would you care to live or visit
    • Meme/genre: sci-fi, fantasy, time shift, horror, dystopia, CSI, medical, cops/crime
  • Food
    • A meal or food you’d eat every day for the rest of your life
    • Beverage
    • Sweet or treat: childhood or now
    • Least favorite food
    • Haven’t tried but would like to
  • Travel
    • Prior vacation spot
    • Desired vacation spot
    • Live the rest of your life
    • Would never travel to, worst placed you’ve lived
    • Where would you take the entire team?
  • Misc
    • Favorite science meme: fusion, space elevator, Moon/Mars colony, robots, AI, etc.
    • Music, do you play an instrument, can you dance, are you in a band?
    • Unknown skills (art, maker, cooking, crafts, etc.)
    • Pet, childhood memory, hobby, best/worst job
    • Bucket list: anything

So far the answers have been fun, strange and entertaining.

(Who knew that some folks don’t like shrimp, sushi, liver & onions, cilantro, bean sprouts? Odd people, these.)


Writer’s Log: 2048 Disturbing Content

All of us can dream up some pretty ugly scenarios.

Depraved, disturbing, deranged. I’d wager you could come up with some horrific scenes with some downright criminal activity. Stuff you’d feel you could never put to paper. So, how is it that some authors can actually write that stuff and not be thought of as insane?

For my latest work in progress I’ve decided to abandon some of my social constraints and write of gawd-awful acts and heinous behavior. Immolation, horse stomping children, murdering a pregnant woman, soon the dismemberment of a “bad dude.”

Holy Hell Batman! That’s some nasty shit. Are you sure you want to have your name associated with such wickedness? Are you sure you want your editor/mother (78) to read of such unspeakable cruelty? What will she think of you now? Disturbed? Perverted?

Frankly, I don’t know. But, I figure if I can visualize it, then so can others, and if it fits the story, then so be it.

But, day-yam, that’s some corrupt sewage leaking out of my brain.

Have you written content you know others would find disturbing? Did their consternation and potential ostracization influence your writing?

 

 


CorpPharma: Evil Incarnate

A while ago I wrote the attached post which explains when
open markets make sense (capitalism) and when social systems make sense (socialism):

https://anonymole.com/2017/01/07/when-open-markets-make-sense/

Subsequently, I was not surprised to find supporting evidence of this theory.

The CorpPharm company Pfizer, recently exhibited the exact behavior outlined in that post: If a life saving, life benefiting drug is not profitable, or about to be released for generic production, thereby reducing or eliminating the profit potential, then said drug will be abandoned.

Embrel is a drug to treat rheumatoid arthritis. An unintended side affect is that it most likely reduces or eliminates Alzheimers in those patients who take it (64% of those showing signs benefited). It’s about to have its 20 year exclusivity (another contentious anti-society factor) expire.

So, of course Pfizer won’t be investigating this drug for alternate use as a dementia reduction drug. It wouldn’t be profitable.

Fuck the millions of elderly who are susceptible.

Pharmaceuticals are the exact industry that should NOT be placed in the hands of capitalists.
“Give us your sick, your needy, your dying — and we will make them sicker and get rich doing it.”

https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/economy/pfizer-had-clues-its-blockbuster-drug-could-prevent-alzheimers-why-didnt-it-tell-the-world/2019/06/04/9092e08a-7a61-11e9-8bb7-0fc796cf2ec0_story.html


I’ve fallen in love with your spirit

Let it be known that I’ve fallen in love with your spirit.

Not you specifically. You could be the proverbial “no one knows you’re a dog on the internet.” (Not that you’re ugly or that you lick your privates, or beg for treats at inopportune times.)

No, it’s not you, per se, for how can anyone truly know who you *are* on the net?

But rather, it’s you — that adventurous soul who dares to strike out, to pick up and move when the mood or necessity strikes you. It’s you and your familiar predilections and inferences that seem like memories. It’s you, whose universe circulates thirty degrees in front (or behind) my own. It’s you whose scant mention of the trivialities of life have made me think, yeah, that’s exactly how I’d interpret that.

The online world condemns and empowers us to love from afar. There are those folks who you’ve met online, have read about, dreamt about, or envisioned meeting, sipping coffee together as the sun crawls over the snow topped mountain. They’ve expressed themselves in such a way that you feel their yearning, their doubts and their failures. We ache that we can’t be there to comfort them, console them. And we, at times, fantasize about such spirits entering our own lives, consoling and pampering our forlorn selves.

Let it be known this love letter goes out to you. If you’ve ever hoped that your sentiment has found its niche on some relic strew shelf, nestled next to mine, know that the sharing of such moments are not phantasms of fallacy. For who is to say that connections made through the ether of net cannot transcend into the ether of cosmic connection.

I entered into this whimsical meandering with a singular contact in mind. Yet, as I explored the concept, it occurred to me that we all, most likely, have fallen in love (or perhaps love’s veneer, infatuation) with those whom we’ve encountered here in the mind’s most fertile playground.

I thought to question it. Coat my daydreams with remorse or shame. But why? Our lives are so narrow these days; mere pockets of duty and obligation peppered with the scant spice of spontaneous serendipity. If I’ve loved you in my mind’s eye, who’s to deny me my jubilation?

Only me.

Embrace your dreams, for tomorrow you may be dead.


Good Villain: Good Hero

Less than a year ago I wrote this: Villains 1882 and promptly forgot about it.

Age, decrepitude, life’s problems commandeering center stage — you know, excuses.

Then, having begun YAAS (yet another apocalyptic story) I found myself stumbling along, hero in mind, a theme, a setting, an era but, I struggled to jell the story in my mind. I poured out a few thousand words and what? Where was I going with this? Weeks went by…

And then, along came a villain.

There we are. There’s the damn story, replete with subplots, conflict, goal, and climax. All I needed to do was to follow my own bloody advice. Sure, create a compelling protagonist chock full of angst and potential but, shite-on-a-stick, what the hell will he/she do then?

Oh, right. FIGHT THE GOOD FIGHT AGAINST THE BAD GUY.

You wanna meet this new villain? Think you’re gutsy enough to confront — her? Well, you’re gonna have to wait, friends. She’s not happy right now. In fact, she’s down right pissed. It seems an illness has cursed her with a trademark brand. That, and the ability to impose an ungodly, brain-jarring, mind fuck on anyone who displeases her. A strange gift and the intellect to use it.

Finally, a VILF.

 

 


Built in obsolescence

DNA and the mechanisms of aging have been selectively engineered to maximize population growth and the saturation of an ecosystem by any and all species.

We are born, grow, procreate, raise offspring and die.

DNA depends on this cycle. If there were no natural selection of dominant (maximum ecosystem exploitation) species, then at some point, such a non-optimized species would most likely experience a calamitous shock, unable to adapt, move or cope, the result would be extinction.

Natural selection expects you to die. In fact, extending our age well past the viable range of procreation and raising offspring is counter-productive — as far as DNA is concerned. Old, you’re just a waste of resources.

We were designed (not really, but the end result might be thought of in this way) to die by age 50. By twenty-five, you would have produced offspring and would now be in the throes of raising them. By fifty, your done. In most cultures, by fifty, you’re already a grandparent having already passed on any wisdom to your children and potentially your grandchildren.

It’s like Logan’s Run but Carousel happens at 50. Your little red jewel glows until 49.364 and then — wink — out it goes. DNA is pretty much Logan’s run, but without the big bang at the end marking your “Ascension.”

Oh, sure, some will argue that elders impart existential experience and advocacy for the species. But this is just bollocks. The fact remains that throughout human existence this fifty-year maximum (on average) was pretty much the standard. Only in the last few hundred years have we breached this lifespan threshold.

And sure, there have been long-lived sages of old who wrote stuff down on tablets, scrolls, papyrus and whatnot. Information that has been tumbling along, building like a snowball to provide us the incredible advances we enjoy today.

But DNA does care about that stuff. It’s Eat-Pray-Love, but for all organisms.

Eat. Grow. Fuck. Die. That’s DNA for ya.

 

 


Memory = Imagination

Here’s an interesting thought:

In order to remember anything, you must imagine it.

Visualize this: a black-with-white-spots bowling ball, spinning on the tip of a pool cue held on the nose of a pink poodle, wearing Elton John garb and glasses, while peddling a stainless steel tricycle.

Do you see it?

Now, recall the inside of your refrigerator.

One is a fabrication while the other is a memory. Yet both are constructed from the same mental processes – imagination. We must imagine memories to remember them. Your first car. Your first house. Your favorite coffee cup. All memories, all recreated as imagined visions.

Now, who’s to say that your memories are not fabricated from nothing — everything you “think” you experienced in the past is just a planted “imagination” — like that pink poodle and its glam antics — they never happened. You only think they did because of memories — which are…