TL Kincaid

The Blog Of TL Kincaid (The Amazing Atheist)

The Cage

Love and fear; fear and love. Often these things are diametrically opposable concepts in the human mind, but in reality they are often one. We fear the ones we love because we fear the power that love has over us. The bonds that connect us to our lover or to our brother can elevate us, but they can also tear us down or hold us back. Love gives you wings, but it also puts you in a bird cage.

To have a lover is to deny all possible lovers. To have a brother, whether by genetic connection or by social connection, is to suffer the flaws of that brother and for him to suffer your flaws as well. My brothers have lied to me. My brothers have threatened to kill me. My brothers have stifled me.

My lovers have abandoned me. My lovers have broken their pact with me. My lovers have lied to me. My lovers have stifled me.

Yet, love binds me to them—to them and their faults. And they must suffer my faults. They must tolerate my weaknesses.

-TJ

Nothing Occupies This Space

I was drowning in safety
The day that you came
And said to the flowers
“I am the rain”
But you were just fire
And you brought them all pain
And still they praised you
Cuz you said you were rain
The dream, it is tattered
The dream, it is torn
By the torments of boring
And the torrents of porn
The fist, all slicked up now
The lips drawn back, forlorn
It’s not just that your naked
It is what you have worn!
Can decisions be rendered
By such vacant-eyed souls?
Are we just throwing spiders
To fill all the holes
That we dug to burrow
And hide deep like moles
From a sun that forsakes us
And our petty controls?
To answer this question
We must first press a notion
That if God is a river
Then we are an ocean
Whose waves break on the beach
With ceaseless devotion
Wearing away at the banks
Where we deposit emotion
As a currency to purchase
The dream back from the theif
Who has buried it deep
In a shroud of belief
Where to dig it up now
Is to deny the relief
That can come from the wailing
And misguided grief
“We have lost it all!”
Shouts the captain of Hell
While the demon peddlers
Continue to sell
The half-hearted promise
That all is still well
And God himself tells you
“It’s best not to dwell”
But I am not dwelling
I am the walls of this place
And to stand in this room
Is to look at my face
Aside from my presence
Nothing occupies this space
Including my presence
Nothing occupies this space

Happy Birthday To Me

I have raised money for Free Speech. I have raised money for victims of Hurricane Katrina. Now I’m raising money for the most important cause of all: my birthday! I promise that none of this money will be used productively. I will waste every penny on having fun.



Games: Are They Art? (Spoiler: NO.)

Firstly, I would like to apologize for referring to Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 as simply Call Of Duty 2 in the last blog. That was a shoddy bit of research on my part.

The last Blog did seem to elicit some argument from a few of its readers, and I would like to respond to some of the arguments brought forth.

As an art-form, video games are in their infancy as compared to film/literature. This is evidenced by the fact that their technology hasn’t stabilized as the film industry’s has. Filmmakers have been using (more or less) the same audio/video technology (minus special effects, of course) for at least the past 20 years. However, if you look at games from just 10 years ago, there is certainly a massive difference. The techniques for storytelling in games are still being developed, as they were in film for many years. I’m sure you wouldn’t call a film from the 1920’s truly meaningful art.

Metropolis, anyone? Nosferatu, anyone? Anyone? Video games are not in their infancy. They have been around since my mother was a child, and I would agree that they have grown by leaps and bounds over the course of the ensuing decades. My argument is not that video games are stagnant or in any way incapable of evolving as a medium, my argument is that they will never be art and always entertainment because the participatory element involved with games is by its very nature excluding the fundamental immutability of art. Claiming that video games are art is like claiming that paint-by-numbers is art or that hiking is art. Imagine if in Casablanca the viewer could choose to make Ilsa stay with Rick or make Rick go with Ilsa. The movie would be cheapened humongously if the decisions belonged not to the artist, but to the audience. The fact is that when an artist relinquishes his art to the viewer, the artist ceases to be an artist.

It’s all ultimately a question of how much you’re willing to broaden your definition of art, as I think it’s all ultimately subjective. Not everyone who watches The Dark Knight is going the contemplate the philosophical issues raised by the contrast between Batman and the Joker, for example.

A very solid point, but I think that the difference is this: Batman and The Joker are depicted making decisions and both the reasons behind those decisions and the implications of those decisions are shown in the film. When a decision is presented to a gamer, it is not really the decision of a character based on who that character is and how he interacts with the world, it is the decision of the gamer who is merely watching events unfold dispassionately. Art invites us into the mind and the world of another person, and superficially one would think that video games do that better than any other genre, but it has actually killed the connection between people and stories by removing immutability and cheapening the world before us by essentially revealing it as illusion that we can manipulate. Would you still find the Dark Knight a work of art if you could choose to make Batman go crazy and kill the citizens of Gotham? It would be fun, yes, but it would also cheapen Batman and make him less of a character and more of a puppet—which is exactly what the protagonists of video games like God Of War or FallOut 3 or Bioshock are.

I’m a fan of yours, but this is nonsense.

Why is film and literature more credible an artform than videogames? It makes no sense. Videogames require even more skill to develop, and the opportunity for creativity (both technically and artistically) reach much further than with films or literature.

I think that you underestimate the amount of work that goes into a film, but I digress.

Your argument is fairly useless. Video games require skill to develop? So do Ballistic Missiles, and yet no one is arguing that weapons manufacturing is an artform. You do raise a somewhat good point though (or, you get close to raising it): if video games are not art, then why are they made by artists? The levels are designed by artists. The characters are designed by artists. Dialogue is written by writers. Voices are provided by actors. How can all of this artistic collaboration result in a produce which is not art?

My answer is that while certain aspects of games by themselves are art, the game itself is not. For instance, if you have an artist pain a mural on the side of a building, is the building art? No. The mural is art. The building is still just a building. It serves a function. It stores objects. It can be accessed. It can shelter from rain. It is a useful thing to have, our building, but it is not a work of art. Now, perhaps a building designed by a famous architect built not just for functionality but appeal would be considered a work of art, but that’s because it is immutable.

Mind Games

So, I’ve been playing video games lately.

Yes, I know, I’ve taken pride in being among the very few people that I know in my age bracket who don’t play video games. I have long considered them a waste of time, and that opinion really hasn’t changed. I still feel that no matter how complex the stories they present, no matter how richly detailed their environments and atmospheres, no matter how agonizing the moral dilemmas they present, they will never be what literature and cinema are—artistic heavyweights in terms of communicating ideas.

A book that makes you perform arbitrary actions before the story is allowed to progress is not a good book. A film wherein the narrative is decided by your actions is not a good film—when games allow players to make the important decisions, they are not really going beyond their own narrow perspective and few players really view the ethical dilemmas presented in many of today’s popular titles with any seriousness in the first place.

Take, for example, the controversial stage “No Russian” from the recent popular FPS (First Person Shooter, for those who don’t know) Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2. Much was made in some circles about the complex morally challenging nature of the stage, but among most Gamers that I’ve encountered, the attitude towards the stage is not that of pensive contemplation of the violence against unarmed civilians in which they are participating. Instead, the revel in the opportunity to vicariously murder the innocent in near photo-realistic detail. I’m not suggesting for a moment that this level is making people more violent—I’m simply pointing out that it’s not making them any less violent either. If art is supposed to elevate or enlighten, then video games fail at being art.

That said, I have come to enjoy them as pure entertainment. And if developers continue to try to elevate their genre, who am I to begrudge them the attempt? I certainly enjoy the game better when it aspires to be more than a game, even if I view those ambitions as utterly futile.

Portrait

The violation of the violent
The desecration of the silent
I am poem
That cannot be read
Until
All the leaders have been
mislead
The broken crucifix that is
burning in your heart
Can be removed if you can prove
That you did it for the art
And if family is obstructing you
Then just kill them in their beds
Dreams are not as sweet when they
Are white roses painted red
To please the queen
To please the queen
To feed the machine
To be so obscene
That no one knows you or your name

SOMETIMES I AM SOMEWHAT LIKE MYSELF
A PICTURE OF MYSELF
SOMETIMES I AM SOMEWHAT SOMEONE ELSE
EVERYONE ELSE’S
PICTURE OF MYSELF

The picture hangs
upon the wall
Will you burn the house down
just to see it fall?
The picture hangs
within this hell
Wouldn’t you agree
that it’s just as well?

The violation of the violent
The desecration of the silent
I am a lie
That can only be told
To those who know
that they have been sold
Can it be true? Can it be right?
I don’t give a fuck.
Just feed me.
Feed it.
Feed.
Me.
All.
Night.

SOMETIMES I AM SOMEWHAT LIKE MYSELF
A PICTURE OF MYSELF
SOMETIMES I AM SOMEWHAT SOMEONE ELSE
EVERYONE ELSE’S
PICTURE OF MYSELF

Plans

The pipes are backed up in my house so the bathtubs keep filling with blackened sooty water and the toilets won’t flush properly. Holly had to wash her hair in the kitchen sink this morning and I’m holding in my morning shit. It’s just another one of those little things that comes along to remind you of perhaps life’s most important attribute: bumpiness. Nothing ever goes smoothly. Nothing ever goes according to plan. Plans should all be burned and their ashes should all be pissed on.

 It has been said, “If you want to make God laugh, make a plan.” Fuck God. Plans make me laugh. A group of people sitting down to figure out what they’re going to do is a lot like a river deciding that it will take a new route to the sea. It can’t do it. Its borders are carved out and it’s following the laws that govern nature. We’re the same way: our destiny is not up to us.

You want to take a shit? Too bad, there are no toilets today. There were yesterday, but today they are gone. You relied on them, and now they’re gone. Maybe they’ll be back tomorrow. Maybe not. But don’t count on it.

Who Dat?

Who dat say dey gone beat dem Saints? Or, as I like to say, “Identify that team making the statement–erroneous in my humble opinion–that they are going to be victorious against the Saints.”

So, tonight the New Orleans Saints, a team once ferociously mocked by many as the ‘aints’, (Hold the S because I am an Aint) won the NFC championship against the Minnesota Vikings and will face off against the Indianapolis Colts in two weeks at Superbowl 44 (Fuck roman numerals!). I don’t think that anyone outside of Louisiana understands the level of excitement that exists her right now. People who watched the game in restaurants were overturning tables. Fireworks were going off outside. Everyone was shouting in jubilation. Nietzsche once argued that art could be used to ween people off of religion, but I think sports have more potential. Because tonight, when the Saints won, I felt the touch of God. Well, not the touch of God, but the raw jubilation that a pious man feels when the lord has done him right. I rose from my chair as if possessed, screamed a praise of gratitude and then fell to my knees and shouted more thanks. Football can be a religion. It’s already on a Sunday, for fuck sake.

You know what’s terrible though? When news sites allow comment sections. Why go through such a rigid screening process when choosing who you’re going to hire to write your articles and then let any jackass make any ignorant comment they want below. Fuck people. Fuck the opinion section. Only smart people are entitled to an opinion. Stupid people just need to be told to shut the fuck up. I know the counterargument: “Well, who get’s to decide who’s smart and who’s stupid?” Simple. I do.

I’m  smart. Everyone who agrees with me is smart. And everyone who disagrees with me is stupid. What’s that? You don’t agree with that standard? Who cares? You’re stupid!

Plans

It’s been a few days. I’ve been busy working on this blogTV fundraiser. I can’t believe all the stuff Galen has talked me into. He’s oddly persuasive for someone who seems so awkward. He is such a natural politician. Always making contacts. Always cultivating PR campaigns. He really is my free PR guy and I’m grateful for it because my public relations stance sans Galen is essentially that I don’t have any. I don’t relate to the public. It’s up to the public to relate to me.

Fear and desolation.

I want to start working on my novel again. I think after I get done with this fundraiser I will do just that. I miss Golgato, Terroja, Sorrella and the gang. I especially miss that character who I still can’t come up with a name for. The one who does all of those truly horrible things and actually does feel bad about it, but enjoys feeling bad about it. Imagine how depraved a monster who was in love with his own sympathy for his victims could be. Maybe I will name him Christopher. He needs a soft name, like the velvet glove around an iron fist.

I’m still in the consideration phase. Oh well.

Human Equations

I got off the phone with Case. We talked about some of what he feels led up to last nights incident, and I listened and remained as close to neutral as possible. Then I told him a story about himself and he apologized in his way (by explaining that an apology was inadequate). I never felt like I needed an apology, so it was of no consequence to me. We then talked about free speech vids and his concerns about it. Then Holly came in and I wrapped the conversation up.

I then shot some green screen footage and attempted to see if I could get the chroma key feature in Vegas to produce good results. The results are encouraging but I need more backlight to reduce my shadow.

After that I recounted my conversation with Case to Holly and she lectured me once again on why Case was a bad friend and I am an idiot to trust him. I’ve made it clear to her in the past that she does not dictate to me who I can and cannot associate with on a social level and rather then explain that to her again, I simply remained silent until she realized that the conversation was over. I was not going to have that argument again.

She already knows that I feel a great deal of affection for Case and until Case himself shows me that my affection is misplaced, I will not revoke it. He has never wronged me, never betrayed my trust, never spilled something that I told him in confidence. Have there been spats between us? Have barbs been exchanged? Yes. But we are friends, and that’s a rare thing for both of us. Other people may not understand it, but they don’t need to, because it’s ours. Case will never understand what I have with Holly, because it’s not his. He’s not a part of it and he never will be. Holly will never understand TJ/Galen. Galen will never understand Case/TJ or TJ/Scotty or Holly/TJ or even Scotty/Holly. Relationships are complicated and they cannot be explained or justified or judged. They are what they are.

I love a lot of people who don’t love each other.