Shiverfish

The rope lifted off the ground and pulled taut with a snap. Four boys and one girl began to clamber onto the wooden raft. The vessel was their crown achievement they had built over the summer, a project the group of seven friends took great pride in. It had taken three weeks to cut down the logs, modify their shape, and tying the parts together with rope. Kafei and Temari stood on the grassy riverside, watching their comrades splash, vying to get onto the boat. It didn’t take long before the five of them were on.

“Untie the knot!” the tallest boy shouted over the roar of the river.

Kafei had warned them today that the river was much stronger than usual. Their plan had been to ride down the river in the raft they had built. When they made their way down to the riverside that afternoon, Kafei sensed the current was dangerous. Crests and whirlpools were forming where there should be none. Kafei tried to persuade them to abandon their ambition for the day, but his powers of argument were weak. He did manage to convince the more timid Temari to stay on land, but the rest of the group wanted their voyage. He would not join his friends in their risk.

“I’m giving you one last chance to think again!” Kafei responded, knowing that the chance of a change in decision was zero and his final warning was a mere formality. “Alan! Brian! Carl! Dan! Erica! You all ready?” Kafei called each of their names, receiving final consent everyone.

Temari followed Kafei as he walked to the tree to which the raft was tied. His fingers danced over the rope as the knot loosened. He gave one final yank and the knot broke open. The raft drifted slowly at first but accelerated quickly. Its passengers hollered in glee. Kafei and Temari jogged alongside to watch their friend’s voyage. Suddenly, the raft hit a large current at a bend and flipped over. The five children’s screams rang out to the shoreline, but were smothered by the continued roar of the river. Some splashing could be seen, but not for long. It took three days to recover the children’s bodies.

***

He hated dealing with the corpses. Kafei gingerly plucked up the dead mice with his forceps and deposited them into the black plastic bag. He couldn’t draw conclusive evidence from his experiment, but it was enough to support his hypothesis. He heard the door open and looked up to see his assistant walking in with a heavy paper bag. It looked liked his chemicals had arrived.

Fifteen years had passed since the boating accident. Time slowly eroded the memories of that fateful day, but Kafei had a hard time living down his guilt. He could sense the animosity of many of the adults towards him, knowing the dangers yet sending their children off onto their doom. He was able to accumulate a sizable wealth through an obscure inheritance. He was not generous with his money, and became a rather unpopular figure among the townsfolk. Kafei spent most of his time conducting experiments in the solitude of his laboratory.

Kafei had been monitoring the water supply in his village for some time. Recently he had been detecting abnormally high levels of bacteria. Upon further study, high volumes of ingestion of this bacteria caused serious medical problems, including fever, vomiting, diarrhea, and death. He also found that the bacteria count could be reduced or eliminated with a chlorine compound. It was previously established that this compound was also not perfectly safe for consumption – it also had its share of adverse effects, though not as severe as the bacteria.

Kafei knew he had to take immediate action to disinfect the water supply, or else the bacteria count would quickly reach dangerous levels and poison the entire village. He brought up this issue with the town council and tried to circulate his findings around town. His efforts were unable to attract much attention, however. The understanding of microbiology was still in its infancy, and the townsfolk were not particularly highly educated. Most were not even aware of the existence of microscopic life forms. This was compounded with the need to contaminate their water supply with a minor poison, and the villagers were quick to vote down his proposition.

Kafei was faced with two choices: abide by the wishes of the townsfolk and hope that the water could stay safe, or take matters into his own hands and introduce his disinfectant into the water source. He did not have the time for more exhaustive scientific research to confirm his observations, nor did he really want to go through with the hassle. Even though Kafei didn’t particularly like most of the townsfolk, he would not want to see everyone dead.

“You can’t go and dump this toxic compound into the water. People will get sick,” Temari had objected. “How can you be so sure you are right?”

“I’m not. I could very well be wrong. But I must operate under the presumption that I am right – to do anything else is a betrayal to my abilities.”

“Again with your elitist attitude. I’m sick and tired of your cockiness. Why can’t you ever admit that other people can sometimes be right and you’re wrong?”

“How is it even possible to sound modest when I am asserting my viewpoint as the only correct one? I can’t help it. Of course I can be wrong. However, think about this: someone with talents much above others in an area, yet too modest to challenge the status quo, will fail to rise through the ceiling and make a difference. The problem is, I happen to be in a position that enables my drawing conclusions that others are unable to make.

Remember that boating accident when they died? I was in a position that they did not have - I had the foresight to identify the dangers that were lurking. Yet I didn’t take action to prevent them from going. Suddenly, I was partially responsible for their deaths, purely by being more aware of the things happening. Their parents – I can tell some of them still haven’t forgiven me. My only fault was knowing too much. If I had been a silly carefree kid the rest of them, and stayed behind because I had hurt my foot or something, than I would have been innocent and blameless.

This time, again, I claim to know more than the average villager. Does it become my moral obligation to prevent their disaster, even if it goes against their wishes? Either I can ruin their fun and make them slightly sick, or watch them all die as they are infected by the bacteria. No matter what, they’ll hate me for it.”

Temari said, “And what if you are wrong then? You will have made them sick for nothing. No one is convinced the bacteria pose any harm. The effects of the chlorine compound aren’t very well known either. You could make the situation worse.”
“I could very well be wrong. I guess that’s what separates the heros from the villains in history, eh? Fate.”

That night Kafei went down to the well under the cover of darkness and dumped the contents of his paper bag into the water. He watched as the white powder swirled and dissolved into the watery abyss.

What is the first thing that comes to mind after reading the title? Incest is perhaps the preeminent example of a cultural taboo we hold in modern society. The mere mention of the word itself immediately evokes ingrained associations of revulsion and disgust. Most anyone would agree it is unacceptable behaviour, and scramble to flush the idea out of their head. But yet it seems to remain a popular theme in adult entertainment, especially from the “wacky deviant Japanese”.

It has also popped up intermittently in mainstream culture. The best example I can think of is Oldboy, who I suspect many here may be familiar with. I haven’t watched the film, but I read the synopsis. That’s how I try to consume relevant pop-cultural knowledge without divesting too much time in them. Clearly, its perpetuation in the media and artistic works means there is some common thread of appreciation among a notable chunk of the population for this incest theme. However, it is heavily detrimental to one’s reputation to challenge this taboo, and so few are willing to admit their attraction (whether conscious or unconscious) to it.

I shall restrict my discussion of this relationship to sibling-sibling attraction, and not parent-child. The latter relation relies heavily on trust and dependence, so any Oedipus-style incest falls easily into a situation of abuse. A brother and sister duo, however, share a similar position of experience and authority, and such a relationship would be more “fair”.

What is the secret allure to having intimate relations with a sibling? Contrary to the common saying, opposites do not attract. Similarities, in fact, attract. This is a rather obvious trend that I do not really have to argue. You make friends with people who share similar interests and traits. Compatibilities are based on complementary attributes, not outright personality clashes. So who else can possibly be more similar to yourself than a peer with the same genetic inheritance? No one can understand the same experiences of growing up as a brother and sister.

Here I can also refer to that news story of a couple who grew up independently, met, married and had children, and later found out they were actually a brother and sister who had been separated as toddlers. I won’t bother to research a link, but you can look it up if interested. This is at least one story of an unlikely, disturbing relationship between brother and sister.

One common lament for incestuous relationships is the dreaded developmentally disabled offspring. How this misunderstanding perpetuated so strongly into mainstream acceptance is surprising to me. Breeding among closely related individuals in no way guarantees genetic defects in the offspring. The gene pool is smaller; exposure to additional genetic variations is limited; dominant alleles may be absent and a recessive allele trait may become likely, yes. The actual effect of all this to produce a defective mutant, however, is probably infinitesimal compared to other factors such as mutagenic exposure, older-aged eggs, or defective genes in the general population.

The royal families in Europe are often used as an example for pedigree diagrams. As far as I can tell they were not overrun by rampant retards after a couple of generations. In fact, I would argue that possibly superior genes (assuming their rise to power was attributable to some degree to merit) are concentrated in a bloodline to breed an even stronger line of offspring.

Incest does not seem to be a major taboo among animals in nature, as far as I am aware. Possibly they may be predisposed for partners from another litter, but if two specimens are placed in an enclosure, they would reproduce to birth subsequent generations despite their common lineage.

So where does our aversion of incest stem from? The bible or any other relevant religious text would probably be a good place to start. I am not saying these artifacts are totally worthless – much of their preached values often provide useful guidance for many people in the world.

If existing culture was completely torn down and all existing mores forgotten, what kinds of values would you retain sheerly for tradition’s sake? If you found yourself among an army of clones of yourself, would you be so sure that you would not be attracted to a girl version of you? I am convinced I would be very turned on by a girl version of myself. Maybe that is narcissism in its ultimate form? Hahaha.

For the record, I don’t have a sister. I probably wouldn’t dare try anything like this if I did. But people have their fetishes, and this one doesn’t seem totally unique. Taboo, perhaps, but not unique.

Free speech is a privilege many of us value highly as a fundamental right. People are allowed to voice their opinions on almost anything they wish, so long as it does not violate some boundaries of other rights. Everyone has their own views on topics. Differences in opinion lead to disagreement and debate, a natural attempt to convince the opposing party that one’s own stance is the correct one.

Debates on internet forums have become a major medium for discussion. The ultimate goal is to convince all sides that your own views are true, or at the very least, to educate the opposition of their faulty logic. But what is the true incidence of success and satisfaction derived from such debates? In almost all cases, each side is steadfastly locked on their opinion, and unwilling to change their position. It seems participating in such an argument is a trial in patience and stamina, until one side grows tired of the argument and realizes the futility of the exercise.

I shall give a background of my own attitudes towards conflict. I grew up in an environment where my parents never got along. They were constantly fighting and bickering over every small thing. As a child, I considered myself still too young to interfere with adult business, and stayed out of their arguments. As my brothers grew older, they began to have some rebellious tendencies of typical teenage nature, which was another source of conflict in the household. I was rarely involved. Instead I turned to my computer games and ignored all the screaming and yelling. Many nights I would lie on my bed, trying to sleep through another raucous shouting match, apparently not interested in the issue and never bothering to get in the way. I was most annoyed that the majority of issues were small, trivial matters that escalated quickly into broken glass and holes in the walls I would find the next morning. I blame these experiences as having a large impact on my personality today.

Since I had gotten into the habit of staying out of the conflict, I never became an avid participant in arguments or debates. I would judge from a distance and draw my own conclusions on who was right or wrong. I have a strong tendency to avoid confrontational conflict, often at my own expense.

Inspired by the “true cause of extinction” thread on global warming, the chance of convincing the opposition to one’s own viewpoint is dismal and absolutely. Surely no one truly expects the other side to cave in, on an internet forum no less. Why even bother with trying so hard?

One major problem inherent in such a debate is the use of supporting facts to back up the respective arguments. Take the claim that “the overwhelming consensus of the science community is in support of man-made global warming”. Firstly, who exactly are the people who qualify as the science experts on the matter? Perhaps the geologists and climatologists or whatever other discipline that studies these areas. But it seems to me these fields are more about collecting data on various factors and analyzing trends and forecasting patterns. A distinction should be made between researchers and scientists. Pure science should be backed by the results and observations of replicable experiments. The venerable fields of physics, chemistry, and to a lesser extent biology, have their origins in the scientific method and have produced some very elegant conclusions.

However, when applying this knowledge to a very complex system of natural weather systems, results are less replicable and innumerable variables come into play. Applied science in geology and climatology or whatever else is still relatively new. The statistics people gather are directly from the field of nature and not easily reproducible in a lab. Hence any conclusions drawn from such research can be easily skewed by interpreters to suit whatever agenda they already have in mind.

Global warming is a special issue because of it is heavily influenced by political and media directives. Experts who speak against man-made global warming (ie. deny its impact) are quickly discredited and face immense pressures from the community. But as history has shown, the majority is not always correct.

Thus it can be said that the only time I would bother pointing out my arguments is when I feel that the audience can be influenced by my words. Arguing when you know the opposition will not budge is pointless and wasteful. In fact, this is the logic I often adopt: my opposition is wrong in their beliefs. They are at a disadvantage, while I hold the correct viewpoint. If I use my efforts to enlighten them on their position, I lose my competitive advantage. Thus I can benefit from exploiting their ignorance, leaving them in the dark while forging ahead myself.

This of course is not applicable when the issue affects a public good, such as the environment. Then debate must take place, but sometimes, an infinite amount of persuasion still fails to change the minds of those locked in their beliefs. Ultimately it is up to the leader’s decisions that make the difference in what is accomplished.

Kinda weird I'm writing an essay here for no reason. Whatever, maybe the next one will be more interesting.

I decided to chronicle my recent life story so that hopefully, sometime in the future, I can look back at my experiences and remember where I have been. I think it should neatly encompass all my previous blog entries at TL from the very beginning. I will also add some personal details where I have previously been vague – the context may impact the reader’s perspective . Some of my internet paranoia has also subsided, due to realizing that probably no one cares enough to trace my identity that far.

The overload of awesome can be a terrible thing. As some are painfully aware, I cultivate an extreme dose of self-esteem and confidence. It does not show through my public facade, but it deeply influences my attitudes towards situations.

My parents were not particularly strict in my upbringing. I must attribute most of that to my own unusually disciplined personality from a very early age. They have never had to worry about my succumbing to bad habits or influences. My intrinsic manners and good insight were unshakable, and I had learned early some more typically mature traits, such as long term planning and fiscal conservation. When I went to Chuck E Cheese or Woody Woodchucks to play those token operated arcade games, I always had trouble using up all the tokens my parents bought for me. I was already familiar with the value of money and controlled spending, carefully rationing my entertainment allowance. In the end my tokens would be shared amongst the others who had since used up their own.

I should be thankful, then, that I was not subject to the rigours of the super strict parent. In fact, the reverse became true. By the later grades of elementary school, my parents started to worry about my lack of social involvement with friends. I began to resemble a loner. At the time, I acknowledged the truth behind their words, but decided I did not mind my relatively quiet lifestyle. Eventually, and today still, they began pushing me to go out to more parties, loosen up around new friends, and find myself a girlfriend. It is funny that they push me in this direction instead of the more typical youth worries.

So where does that put me right now? You’ve heard this before, maybe. I am an academic super star. I am all-around athletically beastly. My main sport is badminton (if you are snickering at that, think again). As an interesting note, to my great surprise I won the grade nine men’s physical education/gym award. I also happen to be a guitar virtuoso. As one friend once commented in admiration, “You’re pro at everything.” Bear in mind I am not such a pompous asshole in real life – I use this language mainly for comical effect.

Now I am 21. I had initially put my university and program of study here, but edited it out due to the details I wrote later on. It happens to be so exclusive that divulging this would narrow down my identity too much. It is jokingly known to other students as the “ten person per year” program. Those who have heard of it might appreciate what it means to be enrolled in it.

That brings me to my first major life failure. I have always thrived in a competitive environment. I have always been able to break through the competition and claim my just rewards. Many of my peers in the accounting stream were able to land jobs at the big four accounting firms. That I was not able to land such a position was perplexing and a big blow to me. I did not, and still do not, understand what kind of demented selection criteria they use. I had to settle for another CA firm. What mattered to me was pay, prestige and work experience. Other top-tier qualified candidates I knew shared my predicament, but at least were able to get mid-size firms. I was in the end shafted to a small CA firm out of town and not what I wanted.

In the beginning, I thought it wouldn’t be too big of a deal. Since I was desperate at that point to get a job, I agreed to my last available offer, without asking about my salary. This was not a mistake on my part since I had no other choice, but was heavily disappointed when I found my salary was practically half of what some of my peers were making. That’s ok... it’s just a temporary eight month co-op term anyways, right? It would be over soon.

But as the days continued to pass, I was more and more disconnected. Everyone at this small firm was over 30. Not really a big deal, except it just compounded my own inability for small talk with this generation divide, for I was not accustomed to befriending this demographic. As these problems grew on my mind, I resented my job more and more. I can not fault my co-workers for this, however – I take credit for my shortcomings that make my own life miserable. After perhaps the first month or so, I deeply despised where I was headed each morning.

I became extremely depressed at this point, moreso than at any other time in my life. Then the problem of my lack of friends came back to haunt me. I did not really have close ties to high school friends at home. Those that were close to me had moved farther away to make meeting inconvenient. Any that were still around did not seem to go out much, or if they did, never invited me along. My newer friends I had made at university were scattered around the area, but none within a convenient proximity for a casual chat. I felt absolutely alone and left out.

But something else must have been troubling me. Even when we did sometimes meet up for a party or gathering, I go, but at the end of the night I feel little different from before. Was it not the lack of social interaction that was bothering me? Then it must have been something else weighing on my mind. Here I decided that I had to resolve my inconclusive attraction to this girl. I had nothing more to lose. The story is in these posts:

Almost Nearly Gone
Subway Drains
Burying the Fantasy

The conclusion of that was no further relationship. I guess I never wrote exactly what I said. After the subway event, I told her on the phone, “I really meant what I said on Tuesday night. These past couple of months at co-op have been really hard on me. And throughout, I was always thinking of you. Whatever you might want to say, I just wanted to say this and go on with no regrets.” (sort of a grammar-edited, romanticized version, but I hope it came out somewhat resembling this).

So she declined. I thought that would be the end of that and my depression would subside. That at least another kind of heart-ache pain would replace my restless isolation problem. But strangely, not much was different at all. I still think of her more than I should, and am as frustrated as ever. I am confused with what I want. Lately, I’ve been daydreaming about the solution I have prepared, that is, jumping off a freeway overpass precisely aimed in the path of an oncoming truck. The impact would occur while I am still midair and cause an instant end. I would prefer the more stylistic and considerate method described in Snow Angel to avoid the resultant driver shock and traffic jam, but it is summer and I live in the city.

It is ironic that I chose to take the plunge by confessing my feelings to alleviate my depression. Instead, it has the unanticipated effect of truly dispatching any remaining hesitation and regrets. Now I am ready to exit without the uncertainty of this open issue.

There has been, however, an additional incentive. Many people would see this writing as the sign of an attention whore. I admit, that’s probably exactly what it is. I have been ignored for too long and it’s time to make myself known through tragedy. How pathetic, then, that if I do die like that, no one would probably find out for months. This has also been a persistent question in my mind: if I die, when will this person I value find out, and how would they take the news? I am convinced of the sad truth that aside from immediate family, those that I think of most would not know for a considerable time. I am simply never part of the loop, never part of the party, eternally the awkward outsider. Then that would make my death simply a waste. You can accuse me of being screwed up and perverted, but that is my detached nature to be objective.

I look in the mirror. I see a fine male specimen any girl with good taste would fantasize about. The problem: no one knows I exist. No one knows how secretly awesome I am. Actually, some people do realize I am awesome – the true problem is that for me to become attracted to a partner, I must warm up considerably from a very cool start. It takes a while, and the time is running out. I have experienced the taste of life after school, in the workforce. Opportunities in school will be ending soon, and the world afterwards is bleak. I worry for my future.

Well, my work term ended at the end of July. Accounting is boring and I am currently studying to write MCAT at the end of the month. Then I start school again in September. The feelings of depression are still with me. I harbour a deep jealousy knowing that others are enjoying their life more, that I play no role in it. Work, work, work... is that all there is for me? I don’t even want to become a doctor. I don’t care much about healing patients – in fact, in my world, the sick would be left to perish. I only pursue this path because it makes good, stable money and because I can.

Despite my personal malcontent with accounting, my employers rated me highly in work performance evaluation. All their comments were very good. I was able to leave a rather positive impression on them. I never knew I was that good at acting, but I had only considered it a professional responsibility. I guess, once again, because I can.

I sit in my room and wither the time away. My youth, so far, has been wasting away, and won’t be coming back. I am not sure how much I enjoy the time I spend in the company of friends, yet I feel left out of everything they enjoy on their own free time. I sit in my room and grow restless. My awesome is wasted in the confines of my room. What the hell do I want?

With the improvements in modern medicine and health care, people are living ever-lengthening life spans. I would not be surprised if the young generation living today would eventually attain lifespans of greater than 200 years. It is important that they remain healthy and productive as long as possible, or else if they become infirm after 100 years, that is another half of their life that they become a burden for the rest of productive society to support.

Telomere shortening and limited cell division potential seems to be accepted as a popular theory for aging. To me, it does seem to make a lot of sense; other biological mechanisms for organism deterioration are so far not well documented. It would explain the apparent immortality of those cell types that do have telomerase to extend their allowed division cycles.

I think it will not be in the far future when immortals walk among us. By immortal, of course, I do not mean invincible. People can still die from physical damage. However, they may be free from the effects of aging and enjoy eternal youth, or at least eternal peak physical maturation state. When combining both fields of biotechnology and human cybernetic enhancements, such a possibility would be a difficult case to doubt.

I have often thought about the scenario when such a feat was achieved. Could you imagine living continuously for one thousand years? Is the human mind capable of handling this huge volume of memories? What mental adaptations might we require to remain sane in this environment?

To me, the most striking difference is that death becomes a much more devastating event. Currently, all people die – it is inevitable. A child dying shortly after birth was barely given the chance to live. To me, it seems as if they never really existed as a person, because their experiences and contributions to the world were non-existent. Healthy people die of old age, when their biological systems no longer function sufficiently to sustain life. The relatives of patients who become gravely ill already harbour the concession at the back of their mind that their loved one will depart soon – even if not immediately, their sickness will eventually claim them. That is why the sudden shock of someone dying unexpectedly in an accident is, I would imagine, a cause for much greater traumatic grief and emotional impact.

But what if we, as immortals, did not die, so long as we lived cautiously and avoided being run over by trains. Imagine growing up beside your best friend, someone you have known and treasured for 400 years, with no estimable date when the friendship may end. When something happens to that person, the feeling of loss must be magnified countless times. You know that you could have enjoyed much more time together, to share many more experiences. The meaning of loss suddenly becomes much more clear. Consider this happening several times with close friends during your hundreds of years of existence. Needless to say, think of the infinite sorrow of losing your truly committed romantic partner. How much grief can a person withstand?

When death is no longer inescapable, we would become that much more regretful of actions that cause mortal harm to others. When people do live on a limited life span, any such occurrences merely create timing differences of the departure that is sure to happen. When a loved one dies, we know that we will eventually share the same fate as them and join them in their final destination.

And then comes the question of mental capacity. Can the human mind truly handle all the information it has accumulated for hundreds or thousands of years? I would postulate that after a long enough stay, insanity is bound to affect the person’s mind. Factoring in the layers of grief that they may experience, it may become a normal situation where the subject has decided they have lived enough of their life, and resort to voluntary suicide. They may also struggle to find meaning in a life that would otherwise never end.

One final note I’d like to make is that the population controls must be implemented. If the death rate diminished to near zero, while the birth rate is unchanged, the planet would quickly become starved for resources. Births must be tightly regulated, such that new births are only allowed when a death occurs. Because it appears that biological clocks would be unaffected for reproductive purposes, ie. the number of eggs females are born with are limited, should a generation live so long that all the females are no longer fertile, the race is doomed. One solution is to preserve or freeze eggs for implantation when birth is desired. A very interesting alternative is to keep some humans mortal, who maintain the normal life cycles to cultivate newborns, whilst they live among immortals.

This is the third chapter of my recent life experience, the first two being “Almost Nearly Gone” and “Subway Drains” (my blogs don’t get much attention, so I’ll have to advertise).

Here’s a quick recap of what has been happening. I was growing very discontent with my job and overall life situation, to which I was committed for eight months. My ability to maintain relationships was challenged. However, what I determined to weigh heaviest on my mind was my unrealized desire for a girl.

I had become so distraught that I eventually decided to resolve my inner conflict. I asked her out for dinner in “Almost Nearly Gone”, to which she accepted. I intended to confess my thoughts to her at that encounter, but the words didn’t come out.

Subsequently, after another painful wait, we met up again in “Subway Drains”. I dropped the very random line out of nowhere. The next day I tried to call her and clarify the meaning of what I said. She was unavailable. I tried again the day after, and that night she returned my call.

I told her the whole story and how I truly felt. Somehow my confession induced her to near tears, as I could hear her voice choking and cracking. “Let’s just be friends,” was the line that came through.

So after all that, what do I feel now? Surprisingly, the rejection was not that hurtful. I had been fully anticipating this reaction, I suppose. I am not blindly obsessed – I think I am able to read at least some hints of attraction, and I had already guessed my level of interest was not mutual. The only reason I was so direct was that I desperately needed closure.

But you know what? I am very proud of myself for what I did. My life motto is “no regrets”. I took the ultimate leap and made my intentions clear. There will be no more second guessing or doubts or blind assumptions. I will not regret missing this chance for the rest of my life, wondering what if. This was the first time I had attempted anything like this.

But where does that leave me now? Strangely, I’m still pretty down. I guess it might take some time to recover. I was kind of expecting a rush of liberation, but that has not come. More troubling, though, is how to find someone else that measures up to this person’s standards.

I have a fetish for quality. I am extremely selective in my tastes. At restaurants, I am the last one to decide what to order, after exhaustively combing through menu and consulting my taste for the day. I will not settle for anything less.

This seems to be problematic then. After the slight tease of this quality, it will be difficult to find an appropriate replacement. I would probably be unwilling to settle for any compromise, now that my sights have been set so highly. Hmph. I am worried that shall become my next struggle.

Disclaimer: My first foray into a fictional layer. Apart from the dying in the snow bit (obviously), the rest of the embedded stories are true.

I took out my cell phone to look at the time. It had been a 45 minute walk from the road where I parked my car. I carefully studied my surroundings, making sure I was content with the site. I had been walking through a sparsely wooded forest, in a remote corner few people would come across. I puffed out a breath into the winter air, watching as the vapour rose up over the treetops. I was standing in a small cozy clearing, with the purity of undisturbed snow beckoning at my feet. The trees were nearly motionless, only slightly quivering from the weight of snow sitting on the branches.

I scanned 360 degrees around the clearing and found no clear line of sight through the trees. I was satisfied with this site. I put down my backpack and took out my last meal: a pineapple bun. I sat down on the snowy ground, resting against the tree trunk. I grinned as I bit slowly into my treat. I always did appreciate the savoury of simplicity in life.

I chewed down the last bites of the bun, taking care not to drop any crumbs on the ground. I stripped off my coat and all my clothing, folding it neatly in a pile. Aesthetics could not be ignored – everyone had their bouts of obsessive compulsion, and this was the time to honour those urges. A shot of cold tore through my body as my bare feet touched the snow.

I reached into my bag to take out a clipboard, a pen, several sheets of paper, and plastic sheet covers. I returned to my previous sitting spot and tried my best to sit down comfortably, shivering uncontrollably as my skin sunk into the snow. Even though I my body had always been quite sensitive to cold, my mind was exhilarated by freezing temperatures. I started to write.

“The words on these pages may be considered to have impossibly greater meaning than any other piece of work I might otherwise create. Context is always important. I have struggled much of my life to dismiss the virtues of art, the waste of abstract expression with no direct contribution to physical improvement. Ironic that my last actions finally succumb to the liberation of expression, in the desperate act to become something people might admire. Or at least I can try.

I might consider myself to be an old-style romantic. I don’t even know what exactly that means, but it seems to apply. I also seem to view the world at a poetic angle. Not in the sense that I write the annoying drivel of words boxed in a fixed format and blindly praised, known as poems. More in the seeking of poetic justice, and the appreciation basic truths. Someone that experiences wildly imaginative bouts of emotion, yet somehow is able to suppress all of it under a hard, cold demeanour. That’s probably what has led me to this anyways.

Of course writing itself is an art form. It is wholly inadequate in the expression of ideas, but it is all I have to work with now. The thoughts we attempt to convey are severely handicapped by any linguistic invention. Short of telepathy, there will never be an adequate substitute for unspoken understanding. But what choice do I have? I try anyways.

I don’t much care if this effort is a failure. I have never paid heed to critics. There is no need to explain to inferior beings who don’t understand my genius. Sometimes intuition is inexplicable, and the innate feelings of one’s true intentions cannot be taught.

I have long considered that I was born as a truly good person – very pure of heart, almost saintly. I was a cautious child, who knew that the path to a nice world lay in the goodwill of people. But as I grew up and encountered real life, I changed drastically. I grew cold and distant, appearing selfish and uncaring. Imaginative? I would normally reserve such reaching claims, but as my final words, I am free of all inhibitions.

Indeed, I have not felt truer freedom than where I am now. My extremities are beginning to freeze over and lose feeling. I only hope that my hands remain warm long enough to keep my writing legible. My runny nose trickles onto the pages as I write. It must look quite clumsy and vulnerable. My ears are probably bright red, quickly as they turn in the cold. Knowing that my suffering will soon end, I grow excited.

I want to recount some of the stories in my head. The events themselves are not particularly spectacular. But these are the moments that stay with me, that I pack in my deepest and most secure crevice of my mind. Poetic scenes.

I was sitting at the bus stop on a snowy night. The glass walls were enshrouded in fog, so that the car and traffic lights outside translated into blurs of light. I was waiting to bus back home after a night at a school-organized ‘ball’. People dressed in formal wear, but of course the event was a typical loud dance floor scene that appealed to college students. University classes had just ended, and students took the chance to celebrate before exams started soon. Outside, the snow was piled high, the hour was late, and the air was chillingly cold. Normally I did not venture to these kind of functions, but I made an exception for the chance to meet up with a certain girl.

As the sky dictated, there was a heavy snowstorm that night, and the girl would not be coming through the storm. The same snowstorm that I endured alone, waiting for a heavily delayed bus to take me to campus. My face was thoroughly drenched in water by the time I arrived. I did not much mind; the pleasure of having a reason to stand in the middle of a blizzard was a pleasure in itself. But clearly, not everyone appreciated nature’s frosty whirlwind. I adored snow for the way it was able to mute all inelegance in the world with white silence.

I stayed for a good while, hanging out with some other friends who had made it. Making the most of the situation, I filled up as much as I could on the abundance of strawberries that was offered. I never did enjoy the party much, nor did I expect to. When I was sufficiently bored, full, and convinced that the girl was not coming, I bid farewell and left for home. It was a solitary walk. The noise of the dance followed me behind my back as I marched my way back through the snow to the bus stop.

So there I sat, alone and disappointed. The bench was cold, easily felt through the thin dress pants I was wearing. My expectations were devastatingly crushed, but I was used to it. It was a lovely night though. One that I shared with no one, cursed to be by myself. Someone might write a poem about this solitary figure, heaped with sorrow, waiting for the nameless souls of public service to take him home. No one would. No one knew the frustration I was plagued with. I guess I might have to write it myself.

Sounding overly dramatic? I deserve one chance. I have shunned sharing these emotions with people. My social behaviours have been accustomed to run on auto-pilot, boarding up any signs of sensitivity. To the rare soul I will open up, ever so slightly, in the hopes that they might be able to offer me solace. I gave them the glimmering bait, but of course, my hints are subtle. My help never came.

This next scenario happened in the summer. There was a street festival near my house. After dinner, I had nothing to do, so I guess I might as well go out for a stroll. I knew if I didn’t, languishing at home wouldn’t much help my longing for closure.

As I entered the fringe of the festival, I passed an old acquaintance I had known since grade school. There are quite a few people in my vicinity that still fit this bill. Sadly, I have unable to maintain contact with them. She was holding hands with a man I had never seen. I made eye contact with my friend, and I dipped my head in acknowledgement. But my legs never stopped. Autopilot again. When I walk, I walk with focus – my legs just keep going until I get to my destination. I passed by, the girl still looking at me. I wanted to say hi, but it was already too late. I was already across the road. The connections would remain broken.

When I got to the festival, I was surprised by the volume of people. I had come here in previous years, but it hadn’t been quite this packed. I slowly manoeuvred through the crowd, heading towards the concert stage to see what people were watching. I avoided eye contact with vendors at the side booths, a natural response to avoid unwanted attention, even if their products interested me. Possibly a bit rude at times, but again, on autopilot.

I tend to walk with an air of direction. The less you look like a tourist, the less likely you will be a targeted victim. I got close enough to catch a glimpse of the singer, turned around, and began to make my way out of the crowd, this time down the other aisle of booths. I emerged from the tightly packed crowds, the whole ordeal lasting less than ten minutes. I began to walk home, feeling slightly silly, and as usual, utterly lost.

This walk would be unsettling for me. While I wish I didn’t have to reflect so much on my life, my mind is relentless. Restless imagination can be painful. I left so quickly because I felt uncomfortable surrounded by so many people. I thought if I were to stop, stand stationary, and simply take in the scene, I would be viewed as strange and awkward. Getting in the way of traffic. Especially pathetic that I was there by myself.

I walked down the street and took a turn into a quaint park path, lined by single trees on either side. I was well familiar with the area. Years ago, this path was completely unlit; the route was short, but I found it immensely unsettling, the embodiment of fear. There was a sense of preeminent danger, that some invisible horror was lurking behind one of the trees. Since then, lights were installed, casting a weak luminescence on the path, and throwing shadows in all directions.

Beyond the trees and the fences, the path was bordered by backyards and houses. Warm yellow light shone through the windows, creating an inviting yet eerie glint. Time passed, and I had grown up. These familiar yellow windows cast a strong image in my memory. The lights were still around, the house’s occupants having grown older. My childhood seemed irreconcilably distant. I was now a man, yet my outlook on life was dim, worn down by sadness and depression.

I had given my mode of departure much thought. Initially I was attracted to jumping into traffic and getting hit by a truck. I was drawn in by reports of so-and-so victim died instantly I read in the newspapers. Instant death? What could be better than a painless finale? Instead, I have chosen to freeze myself in a remote snowscape. I find it much more... dignified. After all, I am a considerate soul, and would rather spare the unpredictable accident of an innocent truck driver and nearby motorists. It also gives me the chance to write these pages.

My time is up. My body has given up - the shivering has stopped. There is no more warmth to burn. I lived, I loved, I metaphorically cried, I died. Farewell.”

I carefully inserted my pages into the plastic covers, each one in its own encasement. I laid them neatly into my backpack. I took a look one last time at my cell phone. I briefly considered turning it off, but then again, no one would be calling anyway. I positioned myself carefully in the centre of the clearing, easing myself onto my final bed.

I took off my glasses, and delicately placed them beside my head. I was nearly blind without them. I stared into the sky. A light snow had begun to fall. What a picturesque fate, I thought to myself. A smile crept onto my lips. There was no greater serenity than what I now felt. I closed my eyes and gave one last shudder.

An update to a previous blog. If you’re interested, at http://www.teamliquid.net/blogs/viewblog.php?topic_id=93554

I headed downtown to meet up with a small group of friends for a night out. It was more convenient for them to stay downtown, so I had to go along with their plan. I live in the suburbs and prefer not venturing downtown. It takes a while, traffic is bad, and the streets are dirty. To avoid the agitating traffic and satisfy my own preference for not driving, I decided to take public transit to get there.

I do not venture downtown very often, nor use buses. When I arrived at the destination subway stop, I misread the directions and accidentally exited the station, when I should have stayed in and transfer on a bus. I called my friend to see what I could do, and she told me the meeting place was walkable.

Me, being the hardcore no-complaint trekker, took the 20-minute walk and got to the restaurant in time, although heading the wrong way in the process. I was used to getting lost in strange places – but in the end I always find the right way, purely through my logical observations and puzzle solving ability. Maybe asking for directions is more efficient, but I suppose that is a last resort for me. Along the way, I began to doubt my decision on going there. It was an inconvenient trip, I was getting lightly drizzled by rain, and I was stressing for being a fool in getting lost and distraught. In the end, it was a good thing I did go; I knew I desperately needed these outings. As someone once advised me, the more I refused these sorts of opportunities, the less likely I would be invited for future gatherings.

The next day was Canada Day, when we would be free off work and took the chance to stay a bit late. We had a good meal, took a walk along the street, and sat down for a light drinks during the night. The group consisted of five, 2 guys and 3 girls, later joined by 1 more girl. The target of my desire was in this group. After we finished our drinks at the last stop, we headed back to the car where one driver drove two of us to the subway station.

After I finished my beer, I knew I had to go the washroom. For some reason, I decided to not hold up the group as we headed for the car. I thought I would be able to hold it in at least to the subway station. It would be me and my affected girl getting off there and travel together on the subway. As we were walking through the subway station, I was looking for a washroom. To my great dismay, there were none. By the time we got to the platform, I needed to go rather badly. I asked the girl whether she would wait if I had to go out of the station to find a washroom. Understandably, it was getting late, and she would rather catch the next train. I fled back up the stairs to ask the ticket vendor whether any such facilities were available. I knew the trains were coming, and the girl would be gone.

I was told there were none there. Hurriedly I made my way back to the platform, when I heard the sound of the next train approaching. I manicly dashed down the stairs in an attempt to catch the train, not wanting to be left behind without even saying goodbye. To my huge relief I barely made it into the train just in time. I looked through the car I was in for the girl. She wasn’t in here. I knew, based on where we were standing previously, she was most likely in this car or the next one beside it.

The cars on the train were not interconnecting for passengers. At the next stop, I jumped out of my current car and entered the next one. I started to walk my way down and quickly found the girl sitting at the seat. I approached, she looked up, and was quite surprised to see me. I sat down beside her and laughed about my close encounter.

As I was walking up, before she saw me, she was starting to put on her headphones. She left them off as we sat there and shared slight conversation. As the stations ticked by, I knew my time was running out. Here was my perfect opportunity I was waiting for to say what I needed to say. My heart sped up for one moment, then settled down as I readied myself. As the speakers announced the next transfer station stop we would be getting off at, I turned towards her and said softly, “I promised myself I would say this the next time I had the chance. I like you a lot.”

I was barely looking at her, but I seemed a sense of surprise. She responded, “I like you too.” I couldn’t tell if she thought I was drunk and meant it as a reassuring gesture of friendship, but for now I will assume that’s what it was. I was so caught up that I nearly forgot I too had to transfer trains, and that we would be leaving the car together. Luckily she reminded me and we got off.

Interrupted by the shift in focus, some conversation about the nuances of the subway stations ensued. Keep in mind right now, I still had to use the bathroom badly. I followed the signs to the nearest washroom, and I headed quickly for it once I found it, wishing she would be nearby when I got out. I stood at the urinal, and to my great annoyance, my urination volume was rather substantial, as is the case when you have had to delay the urge for a bit. I was squeezing it out as fast as I could, knowing that by the next train arrival, the girl would be gone. It just keeping pouring out seemingly without end. Finally the drops slowed, I zipped up, and ran out onto the platform.

I scanned the platform for the girl. This was the location of her transfer (not mine). I walked down the station quickly to look for her, but did not see her. I considered perhaps she had also used the bathroom herself; there wasn’t much place to hide if she was indeed getting on this next car.

I was unable to find her, and was saddened by my chance to say goodbye. I stood for there for a bit at the most likely position I would expect her to be, looking. Soon I could hear the sound of her train approaching. I scanned the crowd one more time and could see her in one of the lineups waiting to board. I waved at her, but she didn’t. My thoughts raced quickly – my final window was closing quick. I briskly walked up to her place. She got on the car. By the time I got to the doors, everyone had boarded. It took me a moment to spot where she had settled. She was sitting in the seats right by the door. As the sounds for door closing warnings rang, I called out her name. I did not want to board and go in to meet her, as this was not my train. She looked around for the source that had called her name. By the time she spotted me outside, the doors were closed and she say me through the glass. I smiled and waved one more time. This time her reaction I was unable to read well, as the moment was very brief, but I know she saw me.

Once the train started moving, I began walking myself in the other direction. In general, the chances dealt by fate are agonizing. But once in a while, circumstances actually do happen as people wish for them to. I was greatly pleased by my fortune that night. I headed over to my own platform direction, with a grin on my face. I was proud of what I did, even though in the end it was inconclusive. I could always clarify things later, and at least it wasn’t outright rejection. The train pulled up and I put on my own headphones. I was whisked off into the night, hoping my impression was favourable. Right now, I was content with baby steps.

This post is the accumulation of many of the themes and attitudes from my previous posts. I hope it will generate much discussion and new ideas about this topic. I choose not to post in the general forums because I prefer to keep all my works under one umbrella for easier reference, accessible under a single link to my blog (http://www.teamliquid.net/blog/Shiverfish).

I have put a lot of thought into this topic, many years of casual reasoning and observation. I do not have a strong background in political science or history, nor do I believe that is necessary for what I discuss. The world operates under a certain reason and operations, the intricacies of which are too complex to fully understand. Yet the economists and policy makers try to predict outcomes, and often fail miserably. Please do not write off proposed theories just because I am unable to attach certain terminologies to the label. I do not believe that statistics and facts are always the end of an argument. The true value of enlightened decision makers and leaders lies in their personal intuition of what is right and sensible. In an age where debating is a sport and conclusions are seldom reached, good intuition is the most valuable asset of human resource and policy setting.

The question is: How to create a utopia.

Consider the following scenario. The world has plunged into a massive war and all major civilizations are destroyed. You, along with a band of [choose the number you want] refugees, have successfully sought refuge on an island and survived the war. The warring nations have bombed themselves into oblivion and no longer exist. The island is bountiful with natural resources and has the perfect geographical climate to build a successful civilization. You are given the opportunity to build up a great new civilization and live in paradise. You may assume people have accepted you as their leader at least for the foreseeable present.

So now you are faced with innumerable questions.

1. How many people would you like to bring along onto the island? Remember you are not only vacationing on a tropical paradise, but intend to create a fully functioning town with any comforts you may desire in an optimal life. Fifty would be too few to accomplish major projects; a million may be too much to sustain and properly govern. Assume that you may filter the kinds of people you want to bring along.

2. Are you allowed to import existing technologies from elsewhere? I am not sure whether to allow this or not myself. For the sake of getting the community up and running in a reasonable time span, I propose that technologies can be imported for a limited time, say five years. The idea is that the island is entirely self sufficient when it is running at full pace. It has sufficient metals to satisfy our modern needs for construction and utility. Keep in mind, when I say island, I do not necessarily mean a literal speck of land on the ocean. The land can be quite expansive, and I just mean that it is isolated from external problems.

3. What form of government to employ? The main problem I have with traditional democracy is that smart decision making is diluted by the inclusion of the opinions not of the unintelligent or uninformed, but by those with inferior intuition. If you opt for autocracy, the people can revolt to overthrow your regime if they grow sufficiently dissatisfied.

4. What kind of market/trade system will you implement? You do not necessarily have to emulate the capital markets used in most of the world today. To facilitate trade, do you use currency? What kind of banking system? The extent of financial involvement by a government? What is the ideal distribution of wealth?

5. Physical infrastructure considerations for public goods such as transit and utilities. How to handle waste and sewage? Would you like to see roads and cars as they are now, or implement another standard of transportation? What method of power generation?

6. Legal system and the treatment of criminals. What kind of punishment or deterrence to use? How to protect the rights of citizens, but efficiently prosecute the criminals?

7. Freed of existing societal morals and standards, would you try to modify/change/create public beliefs and attitudes in being a “good” person?

And etcetera., I suppose you get the idea by now.

Just by looking at the sheer scope of these considerations, it is excusable to be not entirely informed on all the details and studied trends that may exist. Such a project may be beyond the capabilities of a single individual, so thus a council can be formed to receive input from trusted experts in their respective fields.

I am looking for creative ideas that challenge the everyday norms that we have. Given the magnitude of knowledge that we have on all relevant aspects in planning this utopia, every single idea is prone to being shot down by existing documentation and research. However, such studies have been based on familiar, standardized, almost cookie cutter methods of community governance. Radical ideas are too quickly turned down simply from their deviation from the established trends.

A fresh slate offers new opportunities and removes the burden of existing societal limitations.

Here is a description of what I have thought of. You may use the numbered points if it helps to organize your thoughts.

1. A functional utopian society has a delicate balance of the number of people it can support. You need enough so that all labour needs are fulfilled to provide adequate manpower to produce all material goods you desire. However, too many people leads to immediate crowding, less food to go around, a more diverse range of needs, more sharing of limited wealth, and difficulty of governance. The more people you look after, the harder it becomes to please everyone. Considering you are able to hand pick the population you take along, I’d expect to take the best people from their respective trades and specializations. I would estimate perhaps 40,000 is a workable amount.

Assuming that most of the world’s population is wiped out, such survivor colonies may exist scattered around the globe. Suitable “islands” as described in my scenario would be quite limited. An overly large population would deplete their resources at an unsustainable pace. I wouldn’t be concerned that the new world is limited to a comparatively low number of people... it does not take millions of people to comprise a paradise, but an adequate amount of good people. You will not be lonely with 40,000 people around you.

2. Working with existing (not futuristic or imaginary) sustainable technology, modern achievements in waste management, power generation, sanitation, computers, signal networks and other infrastructure are a necessity. I must cheat slightly and import these goods initially or otherwise it would take an impossible amount of time just to catch up with these developments. Even armed with the technical knowledge, factories and processes are not immediately available to process the raw materials on the island into workable goods.

3. No question about it, autocracy is the way to go. Screw wasting my time with stubborn, closed minded fools who can only think about themselves. I propose this argument. I believe that I am the best, the most suitable genius to lead the world to glory. People immediately jump in and assert I am way over my head, that there are hordes of people a thousand times more qualified than I could ever imagine. I concede to this attack and take it to be true. Then let us find this most qualified genius and let them lead us to paradise. There will definitely be those in this world who can resist corruption in a position of power. If that is not possible for a sane, reasonable being, then the only challenge is finding a crazy person with a character flaw that prevents this selfishness. Here the concept of the mad genius comes into play. Such a being need not necessarily be dangerous; in a sense, you could say they exceed the limitations of normal people and are a step above in terms of moral and intellectual development. Now here is a reference loop back to my own genius. I can understand and appreciate the untapped potential of such people, because I am aware of my own abilities and limitations. It comes close, but is ultimately lacking in filling this role. If I can just find one person, that much better than me, who can do the job, then the problem is solved. Not everyone may be able to envision such a being. If no one else can, then I deem myself to be the most suitable candidate and claim the title of King for myself.

At any rate, this exercise is about your own policies if you were in a ruling position anyways, so it doesn’t really make too much a difference. It does, however, in the long run, when the immediacy of establishment is finished and the community matures into a settled state.

Then to rule by being loved or being feared? It seems the natural preference would be to rule by being loved. I hear stories of kingdoms in ancient times ruled by a benevolent king, loved by his citizens, who ruled smartly and fairly. Why is this not possible in modern times? I believe the problem is that people have become both spoiled and more educated, able to see all the small flaws made by a ruler in favour of their successes. Thus keeping the population relatively low has the benefit of keeping your subjects on your side, because you will not have to weigh interests of two parties at every step and lower your popularity with one side. The people must also understand that not every decision will be perfect, but that the ruler can be trusted to make the right choice and remain fair to everyone. Ruling by fear automatically lowers people’s happiness ratings and destroys the ultimate goal of establishing a utopia, so that will be ignored.

4. The basic financial structure must be kept very simple, straightforward, and transparent. Trade should occur using government issued currency. However, the style of economy I propose is a bit different from known forms. The underlying objective of a socialist economy is to ensure that wealth is evenly distributed among everyone. It is well understood that given no direct rewards from working hard, people lose incentive and become lazy. However, it also does not seem completely just that people can use the factor of luck and skill difference to create a gaping wealth differential of extreme riches living beside the homeless and poverty.

Here is my precious idea I have developed and polished over years, which I hold very dear. In my utopia, people are required to work 20 hours a week in designated “fundamental roles”. These jobs have the distinction of providing a basic, real value to society. For example, a farmer harvesting food, a construction worker building houses, a maintenance worker repairing pipes, and a trash collector picking up garbage to manage waste are “fundamental roles”. They are essential services that must be provided by someone in order to enjoy the high standard of living people desire. Examples of non-fundamental jobs are artists who paint pictures, musicians who record songs, and dancers who perform shows. It is sinful for these people to receive remuneration for their “art” when they are entirely reliant on other workers to put the food on their table and the clothes on their back.

As long as people fulfill their 20 hours a week quota in their designated position, they are entitled to the basics of living: housing, food, clothing, and utilities. Exactly what standard of goods they are allowed depends entirely on the collective output of the society. Everyone is distributed the same standard of essentials as everyone else. Once everyone who meets the quota is given their basic dues, any excess capacity that is available is evenly distributed. Thus as time goes on and production in this community improves, that standards of living improve as well. People will employ a witness system to vouch that their neighbours were working beside them for the requisite 20 hours a week in order to receive their rationed.

How exactly are people slotted into these positions? Very strong tests must be developed to test the aptitude of individuals to match them with their profession of ideal fit. These roles must be committed for one month; each month, people may request to try a different job provided they pass the aptitude test for that position. It is rare for people to switch jobs often, and people are encouraged to find one they can live with and stick with it for most of their lives.

So it may seem on the surface that artistic professions are completely banned from society. That is not the case. Art is permitted, just as long as it comes alongside with 20 hours quota of real work. One consequence is that many jobs strictly associated with these fields, such as sound editing, image editing, producers, marketers, and photographers are forced to contribute something real and quantifiable to society. No one is spared from their 20 hour quota. Say, for example, a worker is temporarily injured and unable to make their required work hours for the month. Such exceptions will be considered on a case by case basis. In the event that someone becomes too old and infirm to carry out their duties, their quotas may be reduced. The idea is to ensure that no one becomes a burden on society that others are forced to support.

Twenty hours a week leaves plenty of time to pursue an individual’s own interests in the other 148 hours a week they have. Artists who feel the need to express themselves have plenty of opportunity to create their art. By cleverly removing much of the commercial pressures and marketable connotations of art, these people are free to produce “true” art without secondary attachments and motives.

The issue of research is a unique topic that should be addressed. Does lab research constitute a “fundamental role”? The problem is that no matter how hard an individual may be trying in a lab to produce useful results that advance the communities technological barriers, success is never a guaranteed thing, and often much luck is involved. Therefore the measurement of progress and how much actual work is accomplished in a research lab cannot be fully measured. Instead, research and development must be left as a secondary activity that may not pass as a “fundamental” job. I, too, would easily prefer to expand the bounds of technology available to push our comfort standards to the max, but I have faith that there is the type of person who truly pursues basic research for the sake of knowledge.

When the problem of making enough money to earn a comfortable living is removed, people are free to pursue what they truly value. However, an incentive system must be implemented to encourage people to go beyond the bare minimum required of them and improve economic output. Thus a secondary market economy will be implemented over top of this described socialist policy.

All men are not created equal. It is crime to ignore that some people are inherently better than others. On the human value index scale, people of greater potential deserve greater rewards than those who are unable to contribute the same amount. It is unfair to force and assume that each person must be stuck with the average community output, with no opportunity for self-improvement.

In this secondary market, wealth may be distributed according to individual talents. For example, say a craftsman was exceptionally skilled at making chairs. He might naturally arrange for a job as a chair builder for his 20 hour quota. Beyond that time, his neighbours are interested in some more luxurious chairs that are of better quality than the sustainable standards provided to everyone equally. He has the resources to construct special chairs for only 100 households. People would go and buy such special chairs with currency in the secondary market. They now own chairs of superior quality and comfort than the shared common ones available to the rest of the community, provided they can afford it.

In this way, trade and specialization and innovation continue to be rewarded, yet the basic amenities of life are still provided for. After a quick analysis, the immediate exploit of this system is that the basic quota economy may be quickly overtaken by the market economy when people can live entirely on these privately produced goods without the use of the quota needs; people still using the quota resources will get a decreasing quality as efforts shift towards private goods. The solution is to tie the most essential necessities of food and water strictly to the quota system. Food cannot be traded on these capital markets. The distribution of human work load will be designed such that food will be in plentiful supply. The difference is that if people do not fulfill their public service quota, they are not entitled to any portion of the food pool.

The allocation of human resources to the public service quota shall be mandated by the government, who shall watch closely and listen to the preferences and needs of the people. By employing this system, the traditional method of collecting monetary taxes is eliminated. All public services are provided equally by everyone. The population is small so no voices are hidden and unheard.

Point number 4 is perhaps the most challenging and creative proposition in this discussion. I will leave it at that for now.

5. Cars, while a fantastic personal comfort, are not an efficient mode of transportation when the road must be shared with all the other motorists who rely on it as their primary mode of transport. The way to go is high speed train routes with fast service. Cars will only belong on the racetrack for leisure and entertainment if the community can afford to offer this privilege. Shared/public bicycles will be offered for short-distance travel not serviced by trains.

6. Laws shall not be written out explicitly with every minute technical detail as seems to be the trend nowadays. There will be no guidelines, minimum or maximum sentences, and no definitions or categories of crimes. Instead, the law as people abide by are simply the moral goodness and standards of the community. Great reliance will be placed on people’s capacity to do the right thing. This aspect is absolutely crucial to the development of this society.

There will be no official, full time police force. Rather, the citizens are all responsible for upholding the peace and security of the society through a public policing system. Everyone is trained and taught basic theories for apprehension and dealing with criminals. As I shall explain further below, the actual presence of crime is expected to drop to near zero.

Crime and wrongful activity is met with zero tolerance. If an individual demonstrates that they are unable to display the good proper morals expected of them, they are banished from the community, no exceptions. Say a perpetrator is caught with murder. Possible suggested punishments are execution, enslavement, or exile, depending on the severity of the crime. However, there are not set rules and it will totally be up to the jury (ultimately the community decision) to decide their fate. Suppose this murderer was just defending her own safety from the attack of a rapist. She would be absolutely free of guilt and perhaps instead congratulated for being a hero.

7. If this stance seems harsh, that is exactly its intention. When the population is first carefully screened and selected for acceptance into the society, one of the key attributes to consider would be moral righteousness. Think about one person you highly respect for being able to do the right thing, who understands the meaning of etiquette. Bring together an entire community of such people and immediately the costs of policing, security measures, social assistance, miscreant behaviour and conviction of criminals (as none would exist) go plummeting to near zero. I am not talking about moral do-gooders who go to the extreme for a chance to brag of their better than thou exploits. I talk about normal people who considerately pick up their litter, who would return a lost wallet to its owner, who graciously lend a hand to the poor struggling soul stranded on the side of the road.

This automatically eliminates many subjects who may be prone to anger, confrontation, and disrespect. Such is a small sacrifice to pay for a chance to live in harmony. In time, people will feel this imposed goodness as a natural impulse and the world shall be nicer.

Challengers who disrupt the peace or given no second chance. A young child, solidly raised by very capable and righteous parents, somehow acquires an unruly behaviour problem, perhaps as a result of genetic predisposition. He goes out one night and defaces the local grocery store with graffiti. Someone catches him in the act and he goes before the jury. The jury can not forgive this child. This one pain in the ass kid has caused innocent citizens undue hardship. Any resources and efforts spent to rehabilitate him are a total waste, and much better put into improving the prospects of more promising children who understand etiquette. Furthermore, why spend so much in helping out one kid when there are countless others able to replace his role, to contribute to society and have the privilege of living in this community.

Yes, one of the goals of my community is genetic selection for only the best. Over time, this will allow the population to grow smarter, stronger, faster and eliminate the frustrations and burdens of the weak, dangerous, defective.

Points 4, 6 and 7 are the main topics of discussion I suppose. I will reformat this post for better readability and organization when I have time. In the meantime, enjoy the insanities of a mad man. I believe one of my unique traits is that I can see things for what they really are, by removing the common connotations and predispositions normally attached to them. I look at absolute fundamentals of the problem and try to fix it from the very basics. In my society, intuition and etiquette rule the day.

I plan to expand and polish up the article as time permits.

Your own thoughts? Also suggest improvements or points for clarification.

When I first saw her, I thought she had a resemblance to a certain female celebrity I am fond of. Her stats were exceptional – great looks, personality, mannerisms, intellect and ability. The only imminent problem was height. I would have preferred someone rather taller than what she could offer. Nevertheless, through the correct circumstances, we were able to get acquainted and become friends.

I am not much affected by love at first sight, and I suppose that applies to most people outside the realm of decorated narrative. When I see a pretty girl on the streets, I understand as long as the circumstances do not permit, I will probably never get to know her beyond the fleeting moment and visual impression. I found this girl attractive since the beginning, but did not consider or reserve any interest in pursuing something more.

One day she was confronted with some personal issues and was faced with some difficult decisions. She messaged me on MSN for some thoughts. We did not regularly communicate outside of meeting around (university) class times, so I paid extra attention. The next day, I made an uncharacteristic and visible move to sit beside her in class and try to help out what was bothering her. After class was over, we met up in the hallway and were able to discuss the situation. Near the end of our conversation, she began to cry, holding back tears as best she could.

I will not forget that moment. I, being the thoughtful friend she needed, wanted desperately to comfort her. My thoughts were to follow what I learned in the movies: put my arms around her and let her cry into my shoulder. This conflicted with my own fear of overstepping the line. I did not want to violate her comfort zone and make her feel uncomfortable with excessive gestures of consolation. I was not sure what exactly she thought of me. This was compounded by my own touchy-feely standards. I had grown to be a cold, distant empathizer, and a gesture of warm embrace would not come out naturally. Instead I stood there offering words of encouragement and support. I still wonder how that moment may have come out differently.

Two and a half months later, the school term was over. On the day of our final exam, I asked her to stay until the end (in a half-joking tone). I knew her tendency to finish quickly and leave a bit early, while I employed a steadier pacing. She sat right beside me, so I noticed her handing in her papers 20 minutes before the end. I finished around 10 minutes later, and to my disappointment she had left. I mustered up my resolve to give her a call to say goodbye, that I had wanted to have lunch one time before we parted. Understand that I am rather socially and communicatively shy, so actually making this call was not a routine manoeuvre. Indeed it was the first time I phoned her.

After that, our next school term would be in eight months. Eight months was a long time. If I lived to be eighty years old eight months is 1% of my lifespan. I have so far endured five of those eight, forced to work at a job I passionately reprehend. It is a thirty minute drive each way (I greatly dislike driving), in a smallish office with people I share no common interests with. I hardly talk to them, and I go home to an empty house each day. For dinner I went out with my parents, who do not get along very well for as long as I am aware of. I was reminded why I enjoyed the time I lived on campus without them, so I could avoid their constant bickering. It felt like something was missing.

I was growing more troubled each week. I lacked meaningful interaction and communication with others. I did not have a rich resource of friends I could casually call up. I preferred to keep few but much closer friendships, and at this time most were unavailable. I had never become a proficient telephone user. During my earlier childhood, my close friends would do the calling and I happily answered. As we slowly drifted apart to different education paths, calls stopped coming. I was not used to dialling up someone to initiate a conversation. With no invitations to hang out, I grew desolate. Eventually I was driven to post on TL, both as a way to unload my mental burden and improve my writing abilities.

And a day did not pass where I lost thought of this girl. I thought that what I needed was more involvement in social gatherings, but I found that the times I did go out, they were unfulfilling. I now realize my principle diagnosis is focusing too much on this girl. I needed some closure on our relationship. Perhaps my wishes would come true and she reciprocated my feelings, or otherwise a rejection would finally allow me to bury my undying wonderment.

My recent experiences have left me a broken man. What started as practising an evil laugh for the fun of it has evolved into a nearly irrepressible urge to unleash a maniacal cackle. I had some hopes, optimism and desire compressed into a small round fragment. As time went on, the layers have been shaved off, slowly but consistently. I was losing what little was left of my cheer. Each time I looked in the mirror I saw a fine hot specimen, worthy of adoration yet languishing in the prime of life. My ball of hope had been crushed, almost nearly gone. I tried to salvage whatever was left, and then realized along with my reservations I kept in that ball, my inhibitions were broken down as well.

I was sitting in the library. I took a moment to collect my resolve. I picked my words carefully, as I always do. The extent of conscious deliberation was abnormal by most people’s standards but necessary for what I had to do. I dialled her number and hoped she would pick up.