New Song: Sun

A short announcement:

There's a new song now. It's called name "Sun". You can download it here.

This is my vocal debut. Logic helped a lot fixing my flat notes, so, no, I can't really sing that well... yet.

Enjoy!

Happily Ever After

The wedding was as beautiful as one could expect of a fairy tale. Her gown was as white as her skin, and the ballroom was filled with the biggest of banquets. Everybody looked up to her, and could only smile. "The dream of every young lady is now yours, my fair lady Snow," the former king whispered to her during the proceedings. She smiled, while her thoughts wandered of the future to be.

A peasant approached her. Humbly, he reached over her hand and kissed it, "Our hopes are with you, our gracious queen." The room turned dark, her eyes turned gazed, and her feet felt numb. A boulder was now at her shoulders, as the responsibility of her future kingdom weighted down on her. She realized that she didn't knew anything of politics, of diplomacy, and even less so of royal matters and etiquette. She stood up, and was about to flee off the floor, when a hand grabbed her arm, forcing her to sit down again. "My love, it is not polite to leave our guests unattended," said her prince, sitting down beside her.

He would not take his eyes off of her throughout the night. She felt being groped by his stare, as he rubbed the back of her neck. "Are you excited for tonight?", he sighed. "I... I don't know," she stumbled. She looked into his eyes, while the usual crystal beauty that emanated from them turned into red boiling anger. "You don't know? I rescued you from those seven monsters. I've enslaved them to prove my love for you. I've given you riches and power that no other woman before has garnered, and you don't know?!", he spoke in a low, irate voice.

"You've enslaved them? Why? They were protecting me!", she cried faintly. "They're tricksters! They had you imprisoned from your home. That bag of a queen kept them there for her own amusement. Why do you think she never killed them?", he replied. His gaze began moving down her body, "You're nervous, I get it. Don't worry. Once this moronic formality ends, and we formalise our marriage, you'll feel better, my luscious flower." His stare pierced her forehead, where her crown laid, "And tomorrow, we can start ruling this land like it should have when your mother was alive."

Snow glared into nothingness. She could see all the smiling faces, dancing in ignorance of her own ignorance. She looked back to her prince, grinning in his prompt take-over of power and lust. A familiar whisper came upon her ears, but now it made her cry powerless over her future, "The dream of every young lady is now yours, my fair lady Snow, and you shall live happily ever after."

Laconic Writing

When revising my thesis and articles (which I promise I'll begin doing promptly), a constant observation made by my supervisor is that I say too little with too many words. At first I thought it was just a conflict of style, and, coming from the side of storytelling, I enjoyed reading my academic writings as they were, so I didn't do much about it.

However, I just presented my fourth, and hopefully last draft of my thesis, and the same observation has come back. Other people have expressed the same opinion about my work as well: "The idea is very interesting, it's just too long-winded."

I'm worried about my storytelling antics in the academic side. My intention is for the reader to understand my work, and, thus, I reiterate, while trying to tell a story, to make the topic more comprehensible. However, I've uncovered something hidden behind this excuse. Bare with me while I digress...

Spartans were revered for their militaristic style of life, which was based on three virtues: equality, military fitness and austerity. They lived in minimalist settings, and their sentiments were expressed in the bare minimum of words. In fact, they were famous for their Laconic wit, and many philosophers, including Socrates, rejected the popular idea of the dumb Spartan: "[...] if you talk to any ordinary Spartan, he seems to be stupid, but eventually, like some expert marksman, he shoots in some brief remark that proves you to be only a child."

A good example of this is when Philip II threaten to invade Sparta. He stated "If I enter Laconia, I will level Sparta to the ground," to which the Spartans replied, "If." Another example is the beautiful comeback of Lycurgus, an important Spartan lawgiver, to a proposal to set up a democracy in Sparta: "Begin with your own family."

The more I've read about them, the more I've understood the beauty of austerity. Done properly, a bare minimum of words in a statement implies security, while being poetic. I envy them now, because I've realised that an important reason for the length of my writings is because of the use of vague statements like "I feel", "the majority of", "it is implied that", etc. that reek of insecurity.

I've talked to my supervisor about this, and it isn't really about the length of the text. In fact, oversimplification is dangerous, and there are topics that need lengthy explanations to be understood. What austerity is really about is making sure that every word in the text needs to be there: when the Samians went to ask the Spartans for their help, they did so with a long speech, to which the Spartans replied that they've forgotten the first half of the speech and "couldn't make nothing of the remainder". In a second hearing, the Samians came with just a bag and said "The bag wants flour." The Spartans answered that they didn't need to say "the bag", but still agreed to help.

I'll try my best from now on to not use "the bag", and texts will be long only when required. Just give me some slack once in a while; I'm a pompous ass and sometimes I want to show off.

It stopped.

I've always wondered about the random possibilities that we are brought to in day-to-day situations. For example, even though I could have been in any kind of position while sleeping, and my eyes kept in a location that could vary in the order of thousands, they were stroke by a single piercing ray of light braking free of my window shades that morning.

That seemed to be the motto of my life: me being at specific places at what could only be regarded as "interesting" times. I'm not complaining; it kind of verified that I was where I was supposed to be at any given moment in time. Still, it was sometimes annoying to know that I was supposed to be doing something without knowing what it was.

I got out of the shower and clothed myself. I stared at the watch that indicated that I was on schedule to catch my bus. I'm probably boring you with my life's predictability, but I assure you, predictable is far from describing that day. For starters, the bus didn't arrive... at all.

I worked at the Beijing Hotel, and my house was a good 30-minute walk from there. I usually took the 25-minute bus ride to the hotel, thinking that I rather get up a little early and arrive rested to my work. I am at that age that a 30-minute walk seems doable but not as an everyday thing, except, of course, for that day.

The day seemed pleasant enough, and the streets weren't as crowded as they usually were, which I found appealing as I don't dwell much with other people. I took good vigilance of the time, and I was ahead of schedule. I kept my pace, just in case. Around a kilometre away of the hotel, I found a couple of bags in the sidewalk. Knowing I had time, I decided to be a good samaritan. One was a purse, and the other a bag of groceries. The purse had an ID inside of a woman that lived nearby. I looked at my watch and saw that I had five minutes to spare. I felt a chill of pride in knowing I was going to make someone's day at the beginning of mine.

I detoured into the residential streets and wondered a bit to find the address. I thought that during this time in the morning, I could go walk around the vicinity of where I thought the house would be, and just ask passer-byers for specifics, but nobody was out. Was today a holiday that I forgot about? Not a soul to be seen. I knocked on a random house, but no answer. It was troubling, as two cars were parked outside; someone was definitely inside. Shy neighbourhood, I supposed. I looked at my watch, and my little adventure had already taken the time that I had to spare. Being a good samaritan was good and all, but my job took precedent. However, in my way out of the neighbourhood, I stumbled upon the address.

I could've returned the bags later, when coming back from work. I could've left the bags under their door. Hell, I could've just kept the money, groceries, and sold the purse for petty cash. But I was there, in the moment I apparently needed to be, so I knocked. On the third knock, the door swayed open. The discovered scene was not for the faint of heart, and I suffer from heart-faintness. To save you from the description, I'll leave you with the thought of a rug that should have been light beige, now soaked of blood of three bodies laying beside each other. I wanted to scream, to cry, to fall to my knees of the horror that presented itself in front of me, but the only thing I could do was run.

I arrived back to the street where I have found the purses. I looked at my watch, and felt guilty of still caring of getting to work on time. I felt relief when I realised that the sprint from the blood-filled house actually shorten my tardiness by only just one minute. I felt even more guilty right after.

I still had the bags with me. Maybe it was guilt combined with the fact that no one was around, but a compelling sensation came upon me to see what more was inside the bags. I sat down. And started with the purse. Her name was Chi Jie, a mother of two, married to a Post-Doctoral Academic in Peking University, Wen Jie. His name sounded familiar. The groceries weren't even a day old: eggs, cereal, milk... cookies. They were going to have breakfast.

I started to cry.

The street started rumbling. Rusty metal screeching sounded off in the distance. Tanks, I thought. Wen Jie; the name sounded too familiar. I suddenly realised what was happening. The news reported some students protesting the last few days; they must've escalated. More people were going to get killed... like Wen Jie, his wife, Chi, and their two children.

The screeching sounded closer; they were coming this way. Of course they were, the street that I was on leads off directly to Tiananmen Square. I was there, like always, on a specific place at what could only be regarded as an "interesting" time. But, what could I do? I was only a person, and I've heard of people getting killed by just seeing those enormous, hideous things. But I was there, with those two bags.

I could see them. Slowly making their way. My mind went blank as my right foot stepped out of the curve, and my left foot proceeded accordingly.

I was there, and I was supposed to be there.

Without knowing, I was standing in the middle of the street, with the metal screeching in front of me. You killed them, I thought, and you're going to kill more, it might as well be me. I stood there, waiting for the end.

The tank was ten metres away from me. I shouted: "You killed them! Why? Go away!" I knew it was pointless, but what had a point in that moment? I was there, and that was the only thing that I could do. "Go ahead, then, crush me! Like you did to Wen Jie and his family! Continue your route of destruction and see where it leads. There will be more that will follow, more that'll put themselves in your way. You think you can crush all of them? You think you have the endurance to kill the whole world? You keep on going, and see how far you get. Come, keep on going, and see how far the fuck you get!"

The tank was a metre away from me and I was ready. I was there, and was doing what I was suppose to do. The predictability and situationalism of my life finally shined through to clarity. My whole life was made for this moment, and it was happening. I was happy as I stood there to receive my end.

Then, the tank stopped. A ton of scrap metal built for destruction of buildings, of armies, that could reduce me to a pile of guts and blood without as much as switching gears, stopped. An unswayable force of habitual murder, a heavy killing machine that uses blood for fuel, stopped. The drums of death rumbling the streets, the determined march of the self-proclaimed horseman of the apocalypse whose sole purpose is to crumble every peasant of insubordination, stopped.

I was there and the tank stopped.

Quotes and Acknowledgements in my Thesis

I finally finished the first draft of my PhD thesis. I did one page with a couple quotes that seemed appropriate for the work:

We believe nut things because it is part of our little monkey brains to try desperately to make patterns. That is the genius of humans, the quality that lets us learn. Pattern recognition has moved us off the hostile savanna and into the much safer condominiums. When you see your cavemate die shortly after a snake bite, it is probably a good idea to avoid all snakes. Of course, this over-simplification also leads to racism, religion, and all kinds of magical thinking.

Penn Jillette: magician, actor, political commentarist, all-around nice guy.

You are me, and I am you, and you are listening to our song right this instant, but you don't know it. Whatever you think you're hearing isn't there right now, it was prefabricated and melted into your ear a long time ago... try to go beyond the frequencies, beyond the sound of your surroundings and listen to whatever is coming out.
You'll found out that I'm waiting for you on the other side, being you, being me, and our song, our real song, was playing all along.

Anonymous

The only place I can have fun is in the acknowledgements part. I am kind of proud of it.

Acknowledgements

First and foremost, I would like to thank my greatest teacher of all: God. I know that I am here and that I am able to write all of this for a reason. I will do my best in never forgetting what a great fortune I have had in just being here, and that it comes with a lesson and a responsibility. I hope I am doing the work you have planned me to do.

I would like to thank the Mexican National Council of Science and Technology (CONACYT). Without their grant, this PhD would not have been possible.

I would like to thank my supervisor, Prof. Barry Lennox, for putting in me the idea of shooting directly for a PhD and for creating an environment of humour around this whole ordeal. Whilst the sensation of doing something that would impress everybody was short-lived, those first few days of uncertainty that you pulled with me are ones that I will not ever forget. Whatever the reason of why you offered me this opportunity, may that have been my good looks or my impossible-to-ignore charm: thank you for believing in me, even if it only was for just a few moments. Oh, and I will hunt you down, wherever you are, for making me suffer; I will leave a tip though.

I would like to thank my friends and colleagues that I have met in this my home far away from home called Manchester. Specially Oskar and Marisa, who, even though have reduced me to a third wheel in our relationship, have blossomed into a partnership that will not be forgotten. Whatever happens with you two, do know that, throughout these last couple of years, your relationship has provided me with an impressively beautiful site to see, as it is when two friends fall in love with each other.

I would like to acknowledge Nihil and NihilBack, my two Apple laptops. NihilBack is a PowerBook G4 with a 17'' screen, 1.67 Ghz, 1 Gb RAM. Nihil is a MacBook Pro with a 17'' screen, 2.5 Ghz, 4 Gb RAM. I want to thank you for your essential support in this project, as, without it, all of my work, from the thought process, to the simulations, to the actual writing up, would not have been possible. Both of you have granted me the possibility to do whatever I want, to experiment on my thoughts, to write my ideas down, and to share them with the world. You are the bridge to my loved ones, and my wings to my endeavours. I know you are just pieces of hardware to anybody else, but to me, you are an extension of my being, and without you, it is hard to be me. Thank you.

I would like to thank my beloved, Maria del Carmen Valle Lira. Our relationship was born in a very odd way, but I would not have expected otherwise, as both of us are odd in our own beautifully weird world. You portray the symptoms of my shortcomings, and the celebration of my virtues. I have become a better man because of the mirror you hold up for me. Thank you and I love you.

Finally, my parents: Luis Antonio Rascon Mendoza and Virginia Estebane Ortega. They gave me my name, they gave me my life, and everything else in between. I pride myself in having words for everything, but they truly shut me up when it comes down to describing how much I love them and appreciate the efforts they have put into giving me the life I have now. They are the reason I did this; they are the reason I thrive to be better. Their pride for me is my main goal in life. As I have said many times before, the only thing I aspire for is that when they lay in their deathbed they would think, "I am proud of my son." Thank you, thank you, thank you.