Poem: "Hydrangea"

There is a god’s breath on my hydrangea bush.

Slowly it fell from heaven and condensed as dew

before alighting on the unborn petals.

It whispers to them wordless directions to flourish

before the sun dries up the dew.

Hydrangea, what does your name mean?

“Water-vessel”? Then are you a reminder

of what the eagle snatched from the halls of Troy

as the walls were sung into their height and breadth?

Do your delicate petals, pink and violet,

form a souvenir of the blush and bruises

forged and flamed in the moment a god’s glance

caught your namesake? Or do they tell of what came after:

the fair face of Hector bruised by Achilles’ chariot,

the fair face of Helen and the purple of kingly strife?

If I water you, bearer of water,

what will you give me to remind me

of divine love and ambrosia on Olympus?

If I clear away weeds and thorns,

if I lay down mulch and lay bricks to form a flowerbed

same as the bricks which formed a citadel to Apollo’s singing,

will you return a fraction of that passion of the eagle

that I may feel a god’s breath on my lips?

Tanka

"--over and down,

then past the lilac bush

into the soil--"

the autobiography

of a raindrop.

Thoughts on AI Art

Recently I was listening to a podcast between Joe Rogan and Elon Musk. Hearing Musk talk about AI and his upcoming Neuralink technology is subtly terrifying. At what point do people augmented with machine parts stop being human? It reminds me of something Ben Kenobi says about Darth Vader in Return of the Jedi: "He's more machine now than man, twisted and evil."

I've heard a counter to the argument (which I find more convincing than not) that AI will replace humans in terms of arts and humanities--composing music, writing poems and novels, etc--and it's usually something akin to "People will still want to create those things." I'm not entirely sure if that will be the case in the next century or even the next half-century. When other advancements in industry and quality of life came along, people no longer wanted to do the tasks required of their predecessors because they didn't have to anymore. The machine would do it better, quicker, and more efficiently.

What's to stop that from happening to works of art? In fifty years, if AI art has gotten to the point where it perfectly mimics human creations to the point of being indistinct from them, what reason will people have to still make works of art themselves? Just let the machine do it, since it can paint a landscape without having to study for years and years to get its technique right.

I don't know if pure human volition--the desire, the want to create art--will be able to withstand the ruthless onslaught of AI creations.

I see two possible results of this path, should the human species continue down it. Either we completely forget about the arts and how to create pieces of art, or we re-learn art from the ground-up in such a way as to outdo the AI artists. This latter option seems more optimistic, and I foresee it as future man returning to, or following in the footsteps of, his primitive self, the cavemen who painted on the walls of their homes at Lascaux and other places.

I foresee a return to nature, a return to agrarianism and pastoralism as a means of escaping the overly-mechanized, overly-industrialized world which we created around ourselves. It can be summed up in the final verse from William Blake's "Jerusalem":

I will not cease from Mental Fight,

Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:

Till we have built Jerusalem,

In Englands green & pleasant Land.

Thoughts on Samurai Jack (Season Two)

Today I sat down and watched Season Two of Samurai Jack. Needless to say, it definitely delivers. It not only keeps the intensity of the fight scenes, but also keeps the balance between action and quiet, keeps the overarching storyline, and contains some of my favorite episodes so far: Episode XIX, Episode XX, Episode XXIV, and Episode XXV. I will go over these four episodes in particular, explaining why I consider them my favorites (so far).

Episode XIX: "Jack Remembers the Past"

In his travels, Jack comes across the ruins of his former village. He wanders through it, seeing all the broken, worn-down buildings, and reminisces about his life as a child, before Aku spread his evil over the land. He remembers his first kiss, from a girl who was chasing locusts through a field with him. He remembers his father teaching him about fighting for what's his and what he believes in. He remembers his mother's embrace and the cherry blossoms falling gently in the spring wind. He remembers the grandness of the Imperial Palace.

Yet he is far in the future, and everything there has been deserted for years. Nothing remains except the hollow structures themselves. All Jack's friends and family are gone. The skies are overcast, the land is foggy and dark. All the happiness which his childhood memories brought him was taken from him in a single day, the day when Aku appeared. It's a poignant episode that reminds me of the Buddhist notion of impermanence. That is, everything passes away: people, animals, buildings, villages, emperors, cherry blossoms--they all pass away, sometimes in the blink of an eye. It reminded me of a well-known haiku by Issa:

In this world
we walk on the roof of hell
gazing at flowers.

That is, even though we see beauty all around us, we are still capable of losing it to imminent destruction; we gaze at the flowers in bloom, but we still stand on the roof of the underworld regardless. Impermanence is around us. Jack grasps this when he sees his village in total shambles, uninhabited and forlorn. He can't restore it, so he must soldier on and continue in his quest, constant in a world of impermanence and flux.

Episode XX: "Jack and the Monks"

In this episode, Jack meets three mysterious mountain-dwelling monks after telling himself that his quest to destroy Aku is impossible. He is at his lowest point so far. He has given up, he sees no point left in continuing his quest. However, he follows the three mysterious monks whom he met on the road. He tries to keep clearing a path for them, but they find their own way across the body of a steep, steep cliff. They end up in snow-capped mountains, where Jack can barely go on. This scene is what makes the episode a favorite of mine. Picture our hero, the seasoned swordsman, defeated, half his robe torn from his body, his hat gone, his body beaten and bloodied, lying in the snow. He shuts his eyes, ready to accept defeat and death. Then, a voice comes into his head:

Will you abandon their hope? Can you not feel their desperation? Will evil forever rule the world? Have you forgotten?

Suddenly it comes flooding back to Jack: the happiness of his old village, the people he has helped along the way, and his mother and father and fellow villagers slaving away in Aku's mines, building idols to the master of darkness. Will Jack let all the world be overrun by Aku's evil? Can he allow such things to pass? Never! Heaven forbid it. Jack picks himself up, despite the beating his body has taken, and he travels up the rest of the mountain, making it to the peak, where according to the monks there lies truth, and he cries to the winds that he will find Aku and destroy his darkness once and for all. This is a beautiful scene because it is archetypal. This is what a hero does when he is at his lowest; a true hero lets himself be reminded of why he is on a quest in the first place. Yes, he may hurt, and he may have strayed from the path, but his is still a noble goal, and his are still noble precepts. Discipline, resilience, dedication, control--these are the markings of a true hero. Jack picks himself up and climbs the mountain, ready at the end of the episode to live another day, to find Aku and purge the world of his darkness forever.

Episode XXIV: "Jack is Naked"

In contrast to the previous two episodes, which were more meditative and heroic in their themes, this episode is more of a frolicky one. Jack is bathing in a spring when a mysterious white rabbit steals his clothes. He follows the rabbit into a Wonderland full of weird-looking characters and wanders through their topsy-turvy city in search of the thief who stole his clothes. The key thing to remember is that Jack is totally nude for a substantial portion of this episode. Therefore, he has to find ways to conceal himself from the townspeople. He steals a cat burglar's outfit (and his bag of cats), wanders into a stage play dressed as a princess, and runs through town in a torn blue loincloth until he finds his clothes and sword.

While I enjoyed the previous two episodes for their more serious themes and atmosphere, I enjoyed this one for its surreal and comical premise. A seasoned samurai must chase a white rabbit while totally naked in order to get back his clothes and his sword. Seeing Jack try to hide his (admittedly handsome) body is fun, honestly. It's a classic nudity gag that you see in a lot of cartoons but with a twist on the nude character himself. A modest, stern samurai having to chase a white rabbit around Wonderland is certainly something to laugh at.

Episode XXV: "Jack and the Spartans"

This episode is more akin to the first two in this list. The story is narrated by the aged King of the Spartans, and details how Jack encountered a force of 300 men fighting mechanical minotaurs. The Spartans' kingdom is guarded by a narrow passage in the mountains which the minotaurs cannot cross (Thermopylae all but in name). Each day these robots attack the Spartan phalanxes, the phalanxes fend them off, and the robots pick their shattered comrades up, piece them together, and come back the next day. This has been going on for years and years. Jack tells the Spartans that there is another passage by which they could attack the minotaurs. The King decides to bring fifty of his best men with him and Jack as they go round that way, while the rest (including the King's son) stay at Thermopylae. The next day, the battle begins, and the phalanxes march boldly forward in rigorous Spartan form, launching small missiles from the ends of their spears (which I thought was a nice touch). Jack, the King, and the fifty men go round the other passage and assault the robots there. Jack and the King fight the robot's central complex and cause all the machines to shut down in a great explosion. The King and his men survive, but it seems that Jack does not. The final scene is of the aged King on his deathbed, telling all gathered around him of the "300 + 1", and how he believes that the one survived and is still out there.

This episode was special to me because I've always had a love of classical Greek culture, be it the myths, the history, the literature, the arts, etc. I always found the story of Thermopylae inspiring. These men died to protect the freedom and prosperity of their whole city-state, to prevent their state (and the other Greek poleis) from becoming subsumed and subjugated by the massive Persian Empire. To see a samurai help out the Spartans against their seemingly impossible foe in a fight ostensibly to the death made me, well, kind of geek out, in a way. My eyes were glued to the action the entire time. (Note: a neat effect that Tartakovsky does during his fight scenes is to change the animation's ratio to get a close-up, so that you view it in widescreen rather than full screen. It adds to the intensity of the scene, and I wish more animators did something like it.) The fight choreography was smooth and quick (as always, Tartakovsky's animation cuts through the viewer's field of vision like a katana cuts through a silken handkerchief). I highly recommend the entire show, this season, and these episodes in particular, as an examplar of truly great animation and storytelling!

Thoughts on "Samurai Jack" (Season One)

This morning I sat down and began watching Samurai Jack. I had only seen the show in excerpts and episodes out of context, and had very little prior knowledge aside from hearing about how awesome it was.

I can safely say that Samurai Jack (or at least its first season) is in fact quite awesome. Genndy Tartakovsky, the series's creator, is the uniquest animator working in the Western animation industry, in my view. His artstyle is suited to samurai material, with its bright, contrasting colors, shapes reminiscent of both kabuki and ukiyo-e, and the crispness of animation that he uses to choreograph action scenes.

The story, for those unacquainted, concerns a noble samurai--the son of an Emperor--whose land was besieged by an immense dark force, the wicked Aku (Mako Iwamatsu). This samurai was trained for years by various tutors around the world until he was ready as a young man to face Aku. Before he could triumph, however, Aku opened a portal in time, and flung the young samurai far into a future where Aku reigns supreme over all. Now, accompanied by his magic sword, the samurai--now calling himself Samurai Jack--must fight and overcome all manner of enemies and hardships in order to find and finally destroy Aku. Each episode details Jack overcoming an obstacle of some kind, usually in the form of Aku's minions, and he often helps others out as a result.

This story of a seasoned swordsman cast into an unfamiliar, gloomy future, a future full of hostile enemies and evils, is not a one-trick pony sort of affair. Each episode maintains my interest, because despite how skilled Jack is with the sword, there always exists an antagonist or obstacle that stops him from immediately gaining the upper hand and going on with his quest. His wits are tested, his strengths are stretched, his body and sword are beaten and battered. He is not let off easy. This is a problem I notice with action-oriented protagonists: either they are almighty right off the bat, or they are often made too powerful over time, and power creeps upon them (the most famous example perhaps being Dragon Ball, as well as other shounen series). The former is what I call a Mary Sue/Gary Stu; the latter--the power creep--is rather lazy, (because why write in difficulties and obstacles when you can arbitrarily power up your heroes and the crisis evaporates?). Regardless, to watch Jack struggle and earn success by his wits and his strength (and his sword) is rewarding.

I mentioned earlier that Tartakovsky's style is unique and reminiscent of Japanese art forms. The sharp, crisp animation and character designs really do remind me of both kabuki characters and the fantastic landscapes and monsters found in ukiyo-e woodblock prints. Jack's stern demeanor and Aku's malevolent grin seem to have leapt out of a kabuki performance or an Edo-period print by Kunisada. The choreography in the action scenes is also praiseworthy: it flows quick and smooth, giving the viewer multiple angles of the same action for solid effect, enhancing the intensity of the scene and pumping up the stakes.

I wholeheartedly recommend Samurai Jack so far. This season was a 10/10 broadly speaking, and I hope Season Two delivers consistent quality!

Something Silly

As an apology for the lack of a blog post yesterday, I present to you a funny little commercial featuring the one and only Vincent Price...as a polar bear...advertising wine coolers. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uVMXkj9DvMk

Perhaps it's the nostalgia talking, but I'm a bit enamored of these old commercials, and old TV in general. My high school radio and broadcasting teacher shared my love of retro media. When he cleared out his old office during my senior year, everyone in the class got to sort through all his records and take home whatever we wanted. I took home a Hall and Oates album as well as a collection of Paul Lynde's zingers from Hollywood Squares, among others.

People say that mass media has declined in the past couple decades. I think it might be a bit of nostalgia coming through in our collective attitudes. We want new movies, shows, music, and comics, to be the same as the movies, shows, music, and comics that we remember from our younger years. Sed tempora muntantur nos et mutamur in illis. That is, times change and we are changed with them. We like to see things from our childhoods as good or pleasant because we don't know how to judge the future.

(I wasn't sure where to go with that paragraph. This is just something that popped into my head as I was typing.)

Enjoy the commercial! :-)

Poem: "Equinox"

"Equinox"

Each morning in September, I wake up
and darkness lingers, just a little longer;
a shadow of passion from last night
that fears its own canopy of starlight so much
it never leaves unless pushed out
by an overbearing sun.

Yet sometimes the darkness,
with its celestial tenderness,
its willingness to open itself up
so man can see the endless starry portal
and re-evaluate his size,
sometimes these things make pre-dawn more welcome
than those first softly-jagged
rays of pink and blue
I try to chase as I get up for work.

Some mornings,
I'll shut off my alarm and lie in bed,
resisting Sleep's invitation
and Death's intimation,
fearing what might happen to the soul
when I've closed my eyes.
Will this be the last time my eyes are shut?
Will they open again to a deeper blackness,
to Sheol or Paradise,
Elysium or Purgatory?

I look out the window at the stars--
what few I can recognize--
and thinking about the chaos
which Hubble paints for spirits bound in earth,
and how it is only a recollection
of what may have already coalesced
or given way to newer forms
of retold myths, or myth unexplored.

Gazing up, immutability and mutation,
structure and dissolution,
erasure and creation,
time's flux and one moment
fall into place, into a dance
whose footsteps echo down the ages,
but now remain untrodden:
Waltz without meter,
Ballroom without dancers,
Paralyzed dancing,
Union annulled,
Silence where we must have music,
Galleries where we must have painting,
Altars and rites with no celebrant.

And when I look up
at the retreating starlight
and the fading Venus,
and that little inkling of the cosmic order,
I feel myself moving slowly towards the door,
and I say to myself,
"I'll go for a walk."