Inklings

"Forget me not," cried Nature, "and watch out for those eddies and currents too!"

Little Joe Peep was afraid to step out of the home for the first time, but he knew that, for whatever reason, he had to. It was his first day of Bildungsromann. He brought his sheep, his best pal, with him.

As he walked towards the train station, the station operator told him, "Excuse me, young sir, but you don't happen to be one of those agitators, do you? I don't like agitators."

"No, sir, I like Big Brother," stammered Little Joe Peep. He boarded the train bound for Washington D.C. Upon arrival, Big Brother slaughtered his sheep and sent it to the meat-packing industry, which promptly recognized its insecticide- and pesticide-free nature and packaged the sheep as "Organic," making a tidy profit, and infuriating Rachel Carson. Little Joe Peep was sad, but with Big Brother at his back, he was sure to rise to the top of a small oil corporation. He felt better after living in the city for a while, storing heptachlor epoxides in his fat, and forgetting his home.

The one time he remembered was at a large Christmas corporate party, where someone had ordered organic beef, which everyone declared the best meat ever eaten, yet a little bitter since they were eating quite a bit of money. Little Joe Peep promptly forgot, however, when he drank some vintage Californian wine spiced with dieldrin.

Cloud-Viewing: An Ontological Study
Michael Simpson, Class of ‘05

Alisha Wakefield: How many people see the same cloud?!?

We are first presented with a very subjective verb: "see." What exactly is meant by this? For, one could interpret "see[ing]" a cloud as synonymous to the act of being cognizant of the physical being of a cloud (i.e., being aware of the cloud's presence within the human-defined bounds of reality). Contrastingly, however, one could also "see" a cloud by projecting his or her own image of what a cloud should be onto the physical landscape through a self-imposed medium. The subconscious is perfectly capable of manifesting images impervious to the constraints of reality. Heidegger states:
“If one understands what does the making itself known – what in its self-showing indicates the nonmanifest – as what comes to the fore in the nonmanifest itself, and radiates from it in such a way that what is nonmanifest is thought of as what is essentially never manifest – if this is so, then appearance is tantamount to production or to what is produced.”
In essence, one could "see" a cloud where a "cloud" does not tangibly exist, as a projection of one’s subconscious onto the corporeal tableau. I could thus "see" a cow but "see" a cloud.

The phrase "the same cloud" is likewise ambiguous. Are we referring to a coalescence of two unique projections onto the physical/metaphysical landscape, or are we referring to two or more mutual acknowledgements of a physical manifestation – a cloud – that represents some degree of realistic albeit evanescent permanence? Thus, just as sight is not necessarily a realistically accurate phenomenon, the concept of "the same cloud" is confused by personal subjectivity. Kant claimed that all human knowledge is subjective; hence, who’s to say whether my notion of a particular cloud is precisely that of the rest of humanity? Moreover, even if every person in the world “saw” the “same cloud,” would they actually be seeing the cloud as it is, or would they be “seeing” a mutually flawed image?

Finally, there is a degree of ambiguity in the adjective "same." Is a given observer able to view one universal cloud that can be viewed by all, or must we partition the viewable cloud spectrum into a set of clouds that can be viewed by others in the observer’s general vicinity? The number of people that can “see the same cloud” is ever fluctuating given the sample size and relative density: a quasi-universal cloud could, by definition, be viewed by a larger sample size than a cloud limited in scope. So, it is essential to define the bounds of the cloud in relation to the observant populous. Consider a discontinuous, finite cloud. Geometrically, this cloud would have a limited number of observers, as the earth’s quasi-spherical nature would preclude anyone outside the cloud’s general vicinity from viewing it. Furthermore, given that clouds are moving, physical objects, how does one define ONE cloud? Clouds are inherently and constantly changing entities, given that moisture is perpetually and interminably vaporizing and augmenting pre-existing clouds. Thus, would you consider a cloud in a given moment to be the same cloud subsequent to adding one droplet of water? If so, then “one cloud” would exist eternally, despite its ever-changing composition. If this is the case, then one cloud could theoretically be seen by everyone in the world, assuming that a cloud is perpetually moving (for, the cloud would ultimately make its way around the whole world).

However, if you define a cloud to be a singular, unique makeup of a given set of water molecules, then we are faced with two definitive answers: those who view a given cloud at a given, instantaneous moment have actually "seen" the same cloud; and, given that the internal composition of all life forms is constantly in a state of flux, no being, over time, is EVER the same. We must understand “view” as a transcendental acknowledgement of the cloud as it exists precisely in the human-defined scope of reality. Marcuse contends that only through personal transcendence can one overcome false societal standards. Here the subjectivity of both human perception and judgment “repressively desublimates” one into acquiescence or dissent on imperfect or even self-constructed pretenses. Thus, the answer is incalculable due to its inherent subjectivity. Since human transcendence is similarly incalculable, one must therefore conclude that any attempt to measure the answer would be tarnished by the subjectivity inherent to human perception.

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Yes, this is an Inklings submission.

- Patrick Ward

This was an assignment in Geometry in which we were to write about Archimedes palimpsest. I either didn't finish it or just didn't save the final essay. I figure it's too strange and long to include it in Inklings.

Inquiring eyes examine every ounce of my body, intense light envelops my 1212 inch glass case, if only I wasn’t claustrophobic. Life with Blake was easier, no, life with Blake was boring. We had our adventures, I acknowledged his love for me by the touch of his fingers, the way he handled me, and how he only let me rest on the finest material. I was of importance to him, he worshiped me, rightly so. I laid by his bed, and awaited our morning routine. His alarm rang, as customary as this was, it still took me by surprise. He took hold of me, handled me delicately, and strived to learn my secrets. As time progressed, he grew tired of me. I was no longer worth what he paid for, so he made the rash decision to give me away. That’s the story of my life, or at least 5% of it. Now I’m stuck here in the Walters Art Museum in Baltimore, Maryland.

I remember my younger years, what I wouldn’t give to experience those years of exploit. Everyday was an adventure; everyday I was filled with innovative ideas, explanations, and drawings. I grew fond of my owner, a brilliant man who was well-respected. I was grateful that he chose to share his thoughts with me. I would often feel the fresh ink gliding along my smooth surface, his hand augmenting in momentum as new ideas entered his head. I loved that man, and I held everything he inscribed in me with great importance, from his Method of Mechanical Theorems, to The Equilibrium of Planes. He was killed in 212 B.C. by a Roman soldier. It was a tragic time for me, but I knew I had served my purpose.

Life was tough, I was moved around from place to place and I finally ended up in the hands of a Christian monk. Religion had never been my cup of tea, and to be surrounded by religion, Christianity to be exact, was absurd! But there was nothing I could do about it. This monk wasn’t as holy as he posed to be. There came a day when he needed me, he needed my smooth surface, the numerous space I provided. I was covered with my dead owners text, his mathematics, his brilliant ideas, I was taken! Mr. Godworshiper couldn’t comprehend this, the concept was too difficult for him to grasp. Apparently ‘Christian monk‘ was an antonym for ‘oblivious idiot.’ He instead tore me in half! He scraped my beloved text away and used me to his advantage! I felt cheap, used, and worthless. My purpose in life was to keep my inscribed text and pass it on to future generations, but in 1200 this changed. Saddened and disillusioned I let Mr. Godworshiper turn me into a prayer book, I had no other choice.

Everyone used me! I was of importance to God-worshipers across the land. I was their means of religious study. I was forced to endure this for centuries and I was eventually stored within the Mar Sava monastery in Constantinople. There was no God; no higher entity could loathe me so much as to surround me with thousands and thousands of lunatic God-worshipers! It got worse, not only did I have to endure centuries of exploitation, but I had to survive the Fourth Crusade in 1204.

The Fourth Crusade…boy was that rough. I had made many friends within the Constantinople. Most where a bit narrow-minded with their religious scriptures and such, but they were my friends none-the-less. During the Fourth Crusade I witnessed most of my friends’ death. The burning, the yelling, the resonance of ash falling to the floor has been etched upon my memory forever. I survived, unsure if this was a juncture to rejoice.

In 1906 I finally came across a man of logic and sense; someone who was able to look beyond the fictional stories to the wonders of Archimedes. His name was Johan Ludvig Heiberg, a fine man he was. He understood my value, and he photographed every one of my pages; every detail of my body, every fragment of feasible surface. He analyzed me at great lengths and deciphered the secrets which I had hid for many years. My past owners thoughts were no longer secret, Johan publicized what he interpreted.
I couldn’t feel

Stranger than Fiction

Stranger than Fiction is nothing more than brilliant (*said in a British accent*). The characters are perfect. The storyline is unique. And overall, the movie is quite entertaining.

In the movie Harold Crick, played by Will Ferrell, finds himself as the main character of someone else’s book. While this number obsessed IRS tax auditor goes about his daily routine of carefully counting brush strokes, stairs, and any other countable items he hears a woman with a British accent narrating his every step. There are two unfortunate circumstances for Harold Crick, the author does not know that her protagonist is alive and the author is notorious for killing the protagonist of every single one of her books. And so, Harold Crick is forced to find a way to stop his inevitable death.

Though the storyline may seem dismal, the movie is filled with awkwardly romantic moments, sincerely moving scenes and disturbingly funny events. In other words Stranger than Fiction accurately portrays life and all of its sardonic moments. For this reason, the movie is a must-see; it will make you laugh, it will make you feel bad about laughing and it might even bring into question whether fate controls our lives or we control fate.