What separates man from animal?

� Emotion: Nope. Dogs display it (perhaps not the same as humans, but nonetheless, it’s there), as well as empathy, which is tied to emotion.

Thought for another time: empathy = sense?

� Creativity: This requires a little more division. I think that survival of species would require some form of creativity in the form of adaptation. You can apply this term to a new solution to a problem. So again, no. However…

� Fiction: Do animals possess the capacity for fiction — both creation of and the differentiation from reality? This would seem to apply to the ability to lie, as well (and perhaps even the need to lie). Do animals have need or capacity for entertainment that doesn’t serve a greater purpose in their survival? Sure, domesiticated animals might “play” — but watching my cats “play” (and I use the term VERY loosely the second time around, since it verges on domestic terrorism) looks a lot to me like preparing for defense. Call it a survival instinct.

AH!

� INSTINCT: This one goes in all caps. Not that there’s a possession of instinct by on and not the other; obviously, instinct is necessary to survive. It’s like a computer without a bootstrap — instinct tells you to eat and breathe and swallow when you’re too young to understand the necessity.

But animals are almost purely instinct driven. There’s no over-analysis of a situation, no seeking a solution that will expend less energy. They go with their gut. We people don’t do so well with that — perhaps this is a Western thing, or maybe it’s just an extension of civilization, but we seem to be bred away from instinct.

And some of us take that WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY too far. But that’s another story.

� Concept of future: Related to instinct? Brought to a higher level on an intellectual basis? Animals obviously have some sort of inborn concept of future — thus, the built-in urge to procreate and carry on the species / DNA line / whatever.

Everything about this point has just been erased by Blogger. Thanks, Easter Blogger. Bock Bock.

More later.

Also to consider: people without the distinctions, or people who lose those distinctions…

Influences are important, not just to creatives, but to everyone. You’re a businessman? Donald Trump. A mathematician? Newton. A teacher, plumber, construction worker? Someone before you inspired you to be the best you can be or to just get by; shaped your way of thinking and approaching this bitch called life.

There are a lot of works that inspired me, individually. BE — both the CD and the performance DVD — by Pain of Salvation. L.A. STORY by Steve Martin. CHOKE by Chuck Pahlaniuk. King’s DARK TOWER cycle. But artists in their fields that have inspired me, both through their works and their lives and thoughts — very few. Count ’em on one hand, I can. Steve Vai. Devin Townsend. Both of them in music… In film, it’s more moments or stories or unique performances, though Johnny Depp in recent years has started to have more and more of those.

But as authors go, there’s but one write who seems to ceaselessly inspire me, both on a creative level as well as in life. If you need a good place to start, track down a copy of Available Light.

Warrenellis.com � Stories, Drinking And The World: “I sit down every day to tell myself a story. Usually full of either stimulants or depressants, playing some kind of soundtrack to the experience of writing, aware of my environment, sitting in my own little writer�s movie and telling myself a story. Anyone who tells you they write to an audience is either an idiot or a fake. You write for yourself. If the story doesn�t affect you in some way, it won�t affect anybody else. I don�t write for the trunk. I�m well aware that someone else is going to read this. But if I don�t respond in some honest, gut way to whatever I�m writing, you�ll never get to see it.” [much more in link]

Wired News: Game, Set, Film: “As in the cult cooking show, teams were given a short list of must-have ingredients for their movies: a close-up of a street sign, the words ‘spirit world’ in conversation and someone stepping on something.

Teams then had a few short hours to channel adrenaline and cinema skills to write a script, scout locations, find music, shoot scenes and edit the piece into a 3 1/2-minute movie.”

Having done this, I’m trying to imagine doing it in less than 48 hours. And it hurts.

Thanks, Bruce Sterling. You owe me a new brain.

You must see this full size — click the link below. And ignoring the snapping in your frontal lobe. It only hurts for a second.

http://www.strangecosmos.com/images/content/11668.jpg

I would love to spend a year in Barrow, if only to experience the Midnight sun and the inverse. I’ve had many a dream about similar phenomena, and the feeling fascinates me.

And now I’ll have to go home and watch Insomnia again.

Jesus Christ in legal battle to get license: “Described by his attorney as a white-haired businessman in his mid-50s, Christ is moving to West Virginia to enjoy a slower lifestyle. He bought property near Lost River, about 100 miles west of Washington, and has a U.S. passport, Social Security card and Washington driver’s license bearing the name Jesus Christ.”

Art is the answer to insanity.

Maybe I can’t get all of this out of me in any way that will mean anything to anyone else. Not in straight words, at least.

But perhaps this is what all my life’s experiences have been leading to. I’ve always wondered why I’m so many things instead of just one — I’m a writer, a musician, a filmmaker. Not great at any, but good at all. And maybe it would have been nice to have been the best at one thing, but I’m not, and I can’t chagne that now.

So maybe I start thinking across boundaries.

Maybe all of this — thought — comes out in media. Words, pictures, sounds. Motion, light, dynamics.

Something has to give.

Tackle a problem. Seek a truth. Try desperately to grasp patterns, to make sense of unconnected things. Use all your resources to channel what you’ve learned, gather knowledge, put the pieces together, form the greater picture.

And maybe you don’t have what it takes. You’ve got it all there, finally, but can admit to yourself that you’re too close, or too focused from a single perspective, or simply overwhelmed. Call in the troops. Assemble the wise and the trusted.

And then think for a moment how you will tell them what you know, how to present the puzzle pieces, how to verbalize what you think you’ve stumbled upon.

The world stops making sense, and words might as well be tinted chirpings of a wild bird. You can try all you want, but suddenly people are staring, pointing, eyebrows cocked and legs tensed to run away. And you know you’re THIS CLOSE, and you realize that it doesn’t really matter, and you just want it out of you, no matter how.

Maybe they’re not so crazy after all.

BBC NEWS | Health | Sunny May the month for suicides: “The extra sunshine, which helps combat depression, may also provide the people the energy they need to act on their suicidal feelings, they believe.”

Now playing: a nice random assortment of insanity.

I’ve had plenty to think this weekend. Seriously — read over the past eight or ten entries here, and you’ll see evidence. Fine: I’ve had my thoughtful time, my time to ponder, my mental flexing.

Can we just make it stop now, just for a little while?

These voices in my head, the ones that sound like me only incessant? They’re a little close to driving me nuts. Seriously. And I know that you can’t be insane if you know that you are — or maybe you can. Maybe I’ve got that backwards.

Fuck.

It’s days like these that I can understand a breakfast cocktail.

Seriously. Please. Silence. Stop the noise. Just for a little bit?