This is the story of the jpeg found below which shows a silent film playing on my PSP. It’s also a petite tale of our age of terror and wonder.

Why was a silent film playing on my PSP?   Read on.

Years ago — never mind how many — I sat in my apartment drinking Merlot while lounging like Louis XVI.

Of course, I was trying to forget a woman. She had dirty blond hair, amazing legs and the curiously arousing habit of biting my neck in public. She practiced her neck biting fetish on me for a while and then decided to move to Utah, taking all the gifts Aphrodite gave her to that snowy outpost.

“Will you come with me?”

“Where?”

“To Utah, silly!”

Alas, the answer was no.

If only she’d planned to move somewhere distracting like Reykjavik, Iceland, we’d probably have 8 kids by now and be celebrating the fifth anniversary of our hot mess divorce by listening to Bjork.

Back to the apartment, and the Merlot…

On the television, a documentary was playing featuring the narration talents of Old Blighty actor Kenneth Branagh. The doc was about the history of Universum Film AG, or UFA, the national film company of Germany from 1917 to the Gotterdamerung year of 1945 (Did I tell you the story of my Grandfather? He served in a segregated tank battalion and rained fire on Nazis. “Grandpop, is it wrong to kill?” “Yes. Unless it’s Nazis in which case squeeze the trigger and reload as needed.”)

At one point, the work of noted director/screenwriter F.W. Murnau (the man who gave the world “Nosferatu”) was discussed. An extended scene from Murnau’s 1926 film, “Faust” moved on my tv screen.  Mephistopheles and Faust are riding on a cloud to the east as the world rolls beneath them.

It was a remarkable sequence filmed in a beautiful, silvery black and white. I longed to see the rest of this movie.

Years passed, wars were fought, beloved dogs died, loves’ labors were lost. I always remembered “Faust” and the scene which flowed like cinematic butter.

But would I ever see it?

The answer is yes, because it’s now in the public domain and available from Archive.org.

I downloaded it, merged in a subtitle file and converted the media type to a PSP compatible form of mpeg.

All of which gave me a chance to watch this remarkable film while riding on a commuter train. The woman sitting next to me leaned over slightly, glanced at the screen and smiled.

I wonder what Murnau would think of a West Philly boy who spent his youth playing pick up hoops with rats and turning to roaches for sage financial advice watching his movie on a science fictional device in a world in which the Americans are occupying Mesopotamia, a black fellow is President Elect, a space station orbits the globe, the Chinese are a major power and his movie is freely available at the press of a button.

Our world, and our mundane lives, are far stranger than anything dreamt of by Murnau’s UFA colleague, Fritz Lang, for “Metropolis”.

MEMO

TO: The Atlas Family

FROM: Tom Atlas, your adventurous and beloved CEO

Subject: Final quarter results and bonus pay

As you can see from the subject line, this memo was intended — originally — to provide all personnel with important information regarding Atlas Corp’s year-to-date performance.

Needless to say, this is vital information inasmuch as it determines budgets for next year, the bonus level and, unpleasantly, whether or not staffing reductions are necessary.

And I do intend to cover all those topics…in a subsequent memo. Right now however, all I want to tell you is that I’m completely freaked out by kiwa hirsuta which, to my fever-fed imagination, appears to be some sort of creature from not only another world, but another time. A time that time itself forgot, if you follow my meaning.

I’m seriously freaking over here. Yes.

This morning, while showering, I asked myself a vital question that demands an answer: if I was Johannes Kepler, and had been transported through time — never mind the precise means — to this bathroom, finding myself covered with rich emollients and pleasant scents…

Would I scream in terror?

Just in time for the holiday season, I’ve decided to write a children’s book.

Here’s the synopsis:

Christmas was near at hand.   It approached like a shower of bombs just released towards their target.   There’s the moment when the ordinance seems to be still, as if it isn’t going to move, just hover in the air. Within fractions of a second however, its ruthless progress earthwards is clear.

This, at least, is how Slorbfindel, one of Santa’s elves, felt about the holiday. While all the other elves joyfully and tirelessly worked night and day and night to finish the toys that would fill Cringle’s pan-dimensional gift bag, Slorbfindel worked towards one thing and one thing alone:

the creation of an artificial, targetable gamma ray burst device.

Slorbfindel was determined to make this Christmas the last.

MEMO

To: All Staff
From: Tom Atlas, your adventurous and beloved CEO

Subject: Do we feel the flames? Are there flames to feel?

Yesterday, I walked into the mini-kitchen on the 17th floor (near the accounting and perceptual engineering departments) and overheard an argument between two members of our corporate family.

As you know, one of the founding principles of this company is that disagreements are unacceptable because they produce a negative atmosphere that’s bad for our bio-equilibrium and, of course, bad for productivity.

Even so, I held back from stepping in to stop this heated debate because I felt the topic was vital.

What was that topic? What inspired two of our family members to argue? It was this: are we, like Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus (aka NERO), fiddling while Rome (which, in this case, means the world) burns?

After all, so many terrible things are happening — some, such as the pitched battle between the Gamma Boys and the Titanium Lads, are happening right around the corner from this building — and yet we laugh and cavort as if we were gods, unaffected by the world’s pain.

Is this right?

The answer is yes.

I’ve decided that I’m quite thoroughly done with work, at least as it’s currently structured.

The early rising, the commuting, the forced socializing, the near constant worries about job longevity…it has all become a bit too much.

Capitalism agonistes.

Not being wealthy – or the relative of a wealthy person – this weariness puts me in a rough spot: I must work to live but working makes living far less enjoyable.

It’s at times like these that having the tool making, problem solving brain of a talking monkey (instead of, say, a Praying Mantis mind, with its singular concerns) proves to be an advantage.

[kml_flashembed movie="http://www.youtube.com/v/WqEccYXxaAY"" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350"/]

The type of mind evolution equipped us with is an important consideration; both because of its problem solving capacity and its emotional needs which form the basis of my get rich (eventually) scheme.

Some, such as American “self-help” maestro Wayne Dyer have traveled the royal road from flat broke to Ferrari dealership visitor by telling people able to write hefty checks, relentlessly, that nearly all their problems exist solely within their heads. Change your thoughts and the rest will follow.

As cause and effect theories go, this one’s fairly limited and falls rather short of the dependent origination ideas Siddartha chatted about quite some time ago (for example, I imagine it would be easy to find an Iraqi or two who might blame American ordinance for their woes and not a lack of happy thoughts).

Still, when it comes to feeding the mind (and making a handsome profit) adherence to reality is a secondary consideration at best. This is the secret of George, “The Power of Nightmares” Bush’s political success in the United States.

As attractive as the self-help guru route is, it’s not for me. Standing on a stage for hours with a wireless headset mic roughly mixing Buddhism, Hinduism, Judaism and Christianity (Islam is always left out of the party) in a tongue blender and producing a philosophical pastiche would annoy.

Also, it’s not nearly ambitious enough.

No, the real money is in religion. The most obvious choice is evangelical Xtian huckster – dire warnings of eternal damnation unless my audience repents and constant requests for “financial gifts to help this ministry move forward.”

Yes, that’s the most obvious choice but not the one I’m fond of.

What I want to do is start an entirely new religion, one based upon an idea so absurd and outrageous it’s bound to attract followers simply through sheer audacity.

My new religion is Klaatuianism.

According to Klaatuianists (a group whose membership consists, at the moment, of just me – but our membership and marketing people – by which I also mean me – are hopeful for explosive growth) the 1951 movie “The Day the Earth Stood Still” is not merely an important early sci fi film based upon Harry Bates’ story “Farewell to the Master” but a fictionalized version of actual events (what Americans used to call a docu-drama) that have been covered up by the CIA, NSA, MI6, train spotters and various other shadowy groups.

The Klaatuian inner council – again, just me…for now – understand the film’s hidden meanings and critical importance to life’s profound mysteries.

These mysteries will be revealed – for a fee, of course – to seekers looking to unlock the “Klaatu Within” (catchy slogan).

…

Already I’m picturing myself behind the wheel of a new Ferrari.

Farewell My Strawberries

Mrs. Wigginfield Smythe, or, as the society page called her, The Widow W.S., was the kind of wealthy old woman who’d always been rich but never young.

She sat in an immense leather chair, stern and unforgiving, staring at me from behind a cup of tea . I knew when I was being sized up for weaknesses – this was one of those times.

She wasn’t happy and no doubt there was a good reason for it. Then again, even if there wasn’t I had the feeling she was just the right woman to find one.

“Undoubtedly Mr. Forge” she began, precisely, not a breath wasted “you’re wondering why I summoned you here.”

“Well, I’m a detective so I figured you needed someone – or something – found.”

“Quite. Your sterling reputation fashioned within my mind an image of the sort of man you’d be which is why I had my assistant phone you. I must say however that after being in your presence, I can see my preconceptions were somewhat wide of the mark.”

Nice.  The Widow wanted me to know that while I might be a clever monkey, I was still just a tool – a means to an end, no better than the pool boy or the guy who changes the light bulbs every so often. Best to keep the rabble in line.  Insults – especially of the genteel variety – make me impatient. I was ready for her to get to the point.

“Sure, sure, I get that a lot. And listen, since you haven’t told me anything I can just pick up my toys and go play elsewhere.”

“How droll you are” she said.

“No, there’s no need for you to go. I’m certain you’re the man for the job. And so, let’s get down to it, shall we?”

“Mr. Forge, years ago, my father, Abercrombie Wigginfield, made an astounding discovery while on safari in Africa: a diamond mine that contained an extraordinary type of the precious stone. When held up to light, these diamonds, or strawberries as they’re known, sparkle with a hint of the deepest red. Because my family has held exclusive rights to the only mine in the world producing these jewels and also, because we’ve maintained the strictest controls over distribution, we’ve always had, at our fingertips, a record of the location of each strawberry in circulation around the globe.”

“Impressive.  I’m guessing one of these rocks has gone missing then?”

“Yes.  But not just any ‘rock‘ as you so commonly put it but one of my own – a ring crafted for me on the direction of my late husband and presented as a gift only a few days prior to his unfortunate motor car accident.  It’s priceless Mr. Forge.  I cannot adequately express to you my eagerness to see it safely returned.”

“Have you looked everywhere?”

“What an absurd question!  Of course I’ve looked everywhere as have my most trusted servants.”

“Have you looked under your chair?”

“What the devil are you…”

“The chair you’re sitting in now…there’s a diamond ring big as the LA Times building right behind your left foot.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. That’ll be a thousand dollars.”

The End

Recently, a disturbing memo was placed on my desk by Dr. Hilarity, my orangutan assistant.

The memo’s title was as follows: Your Readers, (all 15.2 of them) Know Nothing About Science.

Sadly, I was forced to agree. Not because it’s true necessarily but because orangutans are very strong and quick to anger.

Fortunately, Momus has identified a series of educational strips that might help.

Module 8: The Brain

[kml_flashembed movie="http://www.youtube.com/v/mdI_MmN-Lp4"" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350"/]

I urge you to view the UK films linked below, each dealing with important scientific matters.

Later, there’ll be a quiz.

Look Around You

Module 1: Maths
Module 2: Water
Module 3: Germs
Module 4: Ghosts
Module 5: Sulphur
Module 6: Music
Module 7: Iron
Module 8: Brain

In 1917, Franz Kafka, after breaking off his engagement with Felice Bauer for the second and final time, sat down at his writing desk and penned the following:

As usual, I doubt myself.

Perhaps there is something I could have done differently, some change in my morbid behaviors which might have averted this catastrophe. No, that’s not possible; my course is fixed, the destination certain.

Oh my Felice! How I tortured you! How patient you were with my perverse love of indecision. For years I told you I didn’t deserve your affections, your kindness. You (gently) argued with me but now, I’m sure, you’ve come around to my way of thinking; on this matter at least.

I must change. Writing brings no solace.

I see no other way out of my current state of despair – an indulgence made possible by the Olympian patience of family and friends.

My plan is simple: I will construct a time traveling robot shaped like a mountain cat found in the wilds of Pennsylvania, one of the largest American states. Using this robot cat, I will take over the world.

Why a robot? Why Pennsylvania? Why a cat?

These are mysteries – even to me.

I can tell from the shape, color and, shall I say, glow of your eyes that you are witty, intelligent and exceptionally kind.

So I’m confident you won’t laugh when I tell you that only now, after many days of thought, has it hit me that the secret to time travel isn’t to be found by staring at a coffee cup.