Obscured

Content

“Content” For a larger version visit the Photography and Art Page

We walk winding paths, 

Obscured by trees. 

It is an arbitrary obscuration. 

Only one path exists. 

The path goes round and round. 

Until we sit in the center, unmoving.

 

 

We seek, we search, we long to fill whatever that empty feeling is inside of us. And all we seem to be able to do is turn on the TV, listen to loud music, or drown in our variety of distractions. We all seek refuge somewhere and through something.

And what are you hiding from? What are you looking for? How far have you traveled? On what does all your happiness rest? Soon it will be gone.

We do nothing but build glass houses. It is only a matter of time before what we have built shatters, before we find ourselves in another chaotic mess. And of course, you will die one day. All is impermanent.

There you are, I am, laying naked, cold, lonely, and weeping. This is all so familiar. Round and round and round we go… where do we stop? Some of us never do.

Some do stop the cycle. Some only pause between intervals, take a few breathes and then continue. In those still moments, they might see that when everything else is stripped away, there is only honesty. We can choose to turn to it, to ourselves, or we can shut our eyes and walk away, continuing to ride yet another round on the rollercoaster.

If we don’t want our world obscured, we must turn into ourselves with terrifying honesty. The truth is dangerous and frightening but it is necessary for peace. We have built so many ideas and theories, many of them do nothing but mask our honesty. It is only when we turn inward that we truly turn outward and see the world through fresh eyes. In Zen this is called beginners mind, because we must always start at the beginning, always with the eyes of a child. Then there is joy in knowing all things pass with time.

The Theft…

IMG_0103I moved passed the main leasing office hoping not to be noticed and made my way towards the restroom. The weight of my laptop felt heavier than usual on my back and I could hear every creak of my backpack straps, every single one of my footfalls connecting with the tile floor.

“Can I help you?”

Damn, they saw me and I almost swore aloud. I stretched my face into a smile, wanting to look inconspicuous. “Um, no I am just coming in to use the Wi-Fi.”

She nodded. “Just remember we close in twenty minutes.”

“Oh… yeah. I will just check my email and then get out of your hair.”

She smiled politely and went back to filling out a form, probably some new tenants lease.

Needing to use the Wi-Fi, wasn’t entirely a lie. My internet had been turned off several months before because I was unable to pay the bill.

The leasing agent glanced back up, waiting to see if I need anything else and I realized at once that I was still frozen in place. Quickly, I moved into the main recreation area, the open space inside the leasing office with large comfy couches, a pool table and a small kitchen open for anyone who rented at my apartment complex to use. I sat down, checked my email for a few moments and casually peered over my shoulder to be sure the leasing agent wasn’t looking at me.

My heart was beating. I never stole anything before but now, there was little choice. I didn’t know what else to do. The leasing office was closing soon and there was something I desperately needed.

I stood and moved towards the bathroom. The men’s bathroom was being cleaned. Of course it was. I slumped down a little and felt defeated. What was I going to do? The leasing office we be closed tomorrow too. I turned to leave, feeling defeated when a voice behind me almost made me jump out of my skin.

“You can use the women’s bathroom if you need to, I’ve already finished cleaning that one.”

I turned to look and an older woman, wearing bright yellow ducky colored gloves, holding spray bottle and a rag was standing there, waiting for my response.

“Oh… Thanks.” I smiled at her and hoped that she took my relief for the need to go to the bathroom. Quickly I slid into the women’s bathroom. I locked the door behind me, breathing a deep sigh.

I put down the lid of the toilet and sat on the flat, fuzzy covering. I always thought it strange when people put what was essentially carpet on the top of their toilet, but there was no time for distractions. It was time for action.

Still feeling guilty, I peered around the room, a tiny open room with only a toilet and a sink. Who was I looking for? There was no place to hide in here, but my guilt was overwhelming. I had never stolen anything before. I could smell lemons, the vapors of the cleaner still wafting in the air. I took a deep breath and looked to my right.

There was my prize, the thing I needed so desperately, toilet paper. I looked, at the full dispenser. She had said she just cleaned, she hadn’t said that she had just restocked everything. Of course she didn’t, why would she? The three roll container was completely full; would she notice if I took one? Would she say something to the leasing agent? Would cops come to my door for a single roll of toilet paper?

I reached over to open the large plastic container to take one of the rolls from the rotating queue. But as my fingers reached around the edges of the container, aching for some crack or opening to exploit, my eyes moved to the center of the container. There, was a key hole.

My despair was almost complete. I felt a deep sense of frustrating and disappointment wash over me. So much had gone wrong recently. For six months I had searched for a job and put in hundreds of applications. Then finally when being hired to deliver pizza’s I had totaled my car 2 hours into the first shift. Now carless, jobless and an unfinished Master’s thesis, I felt tears beginning to burn in my eyes. I drew them back, I refused to cry again. Tomorrow I would have to tell the leasing office I couldn’t pay next month’s rent and tonight I was trying to steal toilet paper because I had to choose to eat, or buy toilet paper.

Then I looked at the key hole again. I pulled out my own keys and quickly stuck them in the hole. The smallest one wasn’t a perfect fit, but I was able to turn the lock and the front slide off and crashed on the floor. The noise echoed through the room and there was little doubt it could be heard outside.

I waited, holding my breath for a moment, to hear if anyone had noticed. But no voices called out. I grabbed a roll off the queue and stuffed it in my backpack. I replaced the plastic covering as quietly as I could. I flushed the toilet, and turned on the sink pretending to wash my hands and then opened the door.

Standing just outside was the janitor. She had headphones in and her music was blaring; it felt like a miracle. I rushed out of the side door of the leasing office to avoid the leasing agent and headed towards my apartment. Joy and elation washed over me. I had toilet paper, enough to last me several days while the leasing office was closed and I had a few dollars worth of food to make sure I wasn’t hungry. For the moment at least, I would be okay.

This is a True Story 

This may seem like a silly story, but this really happened to me. During the Summer of 2013 I experienced a number of setbacks as described above. It seemed liked everything in the world was set against me and I was forced for the first time in my life to steal something. It was a horrible feeling, like I was an animal backed into the corner.

Things did not improve for me after that. I left the apartment voluntarily because I was unable to pay the last two months’ rent. Several friends and family members did what they could to help but I had been borrowing money for months, and most simply couldn’t help any more than they had. Ultimately it was thanks to a friend who took me in on her dairy ranch that kept me from being homeless. While there, I spent the next year and a half looking for work and finishing my Master’s Thesis, which I did ultimately finish. Had I not had the support of family and friends, I may have ended up homeless. A fact that I have never stopped thinking about since this experience.

I had done everything I was supposed to do. I already had a B.A. and I had gone off to Graduate school to advance my career as a social scientist. At that point I had done 4 internships, and one of them included a large scale project funded by the Federal Government. I also had ten years of experience in video production and had incorporated that into my internships. I had help to make a full length documentary and half a dozen short for documentaries.

But for some reason, nothing was falling into place. All of my skills and knowledge didn’t seem to matter much. In fact, at one furniture store where I had an interview to edit video, I actually had a potential employer tell me that they don’t hire anyone with an anthropology background, regardless of what my skill set was. He said it was a matter of principle and that he felt that anthropology was a worthless field of study. His opinion made me feel absolutely worthless in a time when I felt like I already had no value, when I was struggling desperately to find a job, any job that would allow me to keep my apartment.

The point of this story is, before you tell someone that if they just work hard they will do well, keep in mind that sometimes, you can do everything right and fail. Sometimes it is the circumstances or timing that simply screw you over. For some it is even worse, there is a system that makes it so that for every step forward they take, they take two giant ones backwards.

People who are born into poverty, who face obstacle after obstacle and manage to overcome them, still don’t succeed sometimes. Is there an American Dream? I know there are a lot of people out there, who are at the bottom of the barrel, struggling just to get by, who can’t believe in something like that. The only thing they can believe, need to believe, is that the next paycheck is coming… for now.

If hard work was the marker of success, then the richest people in this country would be the janitors, the fruit pickers, the construction workers and a variety of other people who trade their body and their labor for meager wages. They are some of the most important cogs in the system of society and without them our system would not function. Yet rest prices (in Denver and other cities) continue to sky rocket while their wages stay the same. How we treat the people on the bottom, doing the jobs we say we would never want to do, is a reflection of who we are, who you are.

Remember that everyone needs a little respect and compassion from time to time, especially those who have to break the law just to survive. Most people who do bad things, do so because they feel there is no other choice. Ask yourself, why should anyone have to steal to survive in the wealthiest nation in the world?

#WhiteWashedOut or Why is Representation so Critical?

Su-Teatro-Seats

First of all, to be sure to place myself in context here and be reflexive, I am a white guy. Not just a white guy, but I grew up in a white part of Philadelphia and Denver Metro Area. I was raised catholic in a middle class family and I am straight. Currently, I am adjunct faculty in several anthropology departments and working on a film project and novel. In modern anthropology, many of us feel it is important to acknowledge our background so as to highlight which areas we may be biased, or which parts of our knowledge is limited.

So, there is a lot of debate right now about all the recent (though this is nothing new) Hollywood casting.  Tilda Swanson cast as a roll that should be a person of Tibetan origins, Scarlet Johansson cast as a character that should be of Japanese origins (and even talk of her features altered to look Japanese) and a host of others. A lot of people (many white but not all) are asking what’s the big deal? Who cares who plays what role as long as they do it well?

In short this is a question of representation.

To paraphrase a passage from a book called Odd Tribes: A Cultural Analysis of White People by an anthropologist named John Hartigan: The representation of a particular social class, ethnic group, or even individuals often depends on the long-term portrayal of their identity through a variety of social channels.

What in the world does that mean?

It means that how we portray (or the lack of portrayal) a group of people over a long period of time is really important. From repeated images or experiences, our brains create what is known as Implicit Bias, in other words, the images that we are exposed to repeatedly create all kinds of subconscious associations over a long term period. When we see images of black men in a violent context on the nightly news or in film over and over again, our brain begins to create the associate that black man = violence (Malcolm Gladwell does a good job of translating some of this in his book “Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking”) By the same token there is a lack of protagonist characters associated with minorities. Over the long term, this creates a lack of association of minorities with positive qualities in our implicit bias.

Hollywood is a really powerful medium for creating all kinds of implicit bias. The problem is not necessarily when the color of a characters skin changes. The problem is when this is a frequent occurrence in a particular direction and the voices of those who want to represent their culture is silenced. A character, like the ‘Ancient One’ (via Dr. Strange) who is meant to represent the ideas and knowledge of a whole group of people, should absolutely be cast from a person of that particular background. To do so otherwise is a mockery of their culture. Rather than allowing various cultures and ethnic groups the ability to represent themselves, we have a system that has a great deal of bias built into it and that bias is consistently recycled and reinforced over ‘long-term portrayals’.

Consider watching the first ten minutes of the film Reel Bad Arabs: How Hollywood Vilifies a People. This film highlights the long term portrayals that have created all kinds of anger and hate towards people of Middle Easterner descent. And by the way, this isn’t just a Media issue, this is also an issue in research and science. Back in the 1970s a man by the name of Edward Said, wrote a book called Orientalism that talked about the negative stereotypes within academia towards ‘people of the orient’. Many of us in teaching and researcher positions are trying to ensure that we consider these long term portrayals in our work and teach our students to be critical of them but with media systems such as they are, there is a lifetime of bias we have contend with of the course of a single term.

Obviously, there are additional issues here, such as Hollywood (for whatever reason) feels that if you don’t have big names, you can’t make money. Most of the big names in Hollywood are still white (and often male). If Hollywood truly believes that only straight white men can bring in the big bucks (and they are of course wrong) then that is because of Implicit Bias, which has been reinforced over the last century in film.

Ultimately, the real issue here is, that everyone should have the right to represent themselves and have a voice in the wider American sphere. After all, how can we have meaningful democracy and coherent discussions about the future of our nation if we silence and/or misrepresent huge groups of people with unique knowledge and viewpoints? If we are ever going to solve the major issues we face, we need all the knowledge and viewpoints we can get. Belittling other cultures (via misrepresentation or lack thereof) and silencing their voices are not in anyone’s best interest.

Also, check out this wonderful (and hilarious) piece done on Last Week Tonight not too long ago…

Thinking About the Tedious

Verse 67 of the Tao Te Ching (via Ursula K. Le Guin’s translation) opens with the following lines:

Inside

Everybody says my way is great,

But improbable

All greatness

Is improbable.

What’s probable

Is tedious and petty.

I think every artist, every researcher, every teacher (or really every human being ever) asks at some point, why do I bother? Why do I bother to create art? Do students even care? Why do I even try? Why am I important anyway? Why do I wake up and go to a job I hate? As anyone reading this knows, self-doubt is a common human experience and for those of us who have chosen to try and create, it is perhaps even more potent and possibly more devastating.

I know I sometimes find those thoughts echoing in my mind as if I was screaming repeatedly into the Grand Canyon, until the feedback of my own mind feel like a high pitched aching distortion of misery. Sometimes, when I stop and watch this, it makes me laugh a little at its utter absurdity. Other times, I allow myself (like many people) to become enveloped by what feels hopeless. It is when we identify with our own thoughts, that we allow this hopelessness to persist.

All identity is crafted from a mix between our internal life, our social interactions and the wider cultural sphere(s) in which we exist. Therefore, identity is ever-changing and ever-moving. You are not the same person you were at the moment you began reading this.

So often, social pressure and cultural history interplay with our own consciousness in such a way that we ignore the small still inner voices that rage so quietly in the back of our mind. We allow the judgements of others, of our wider culture and perhaps most dangerously the wave of expectations from both the outside world and our own ideas of what the world should be, blot out the fact that we have created something beautiful or wonderful or unique. Or perhaps we forget the amazing amount of conditions that have coalesced to create this particular and quite miraculous moment in which we reside.

The easy path is to give up and allow our own misery to wash over us. The easy path is to continue with whatever tedium we have surrendered too. We urge ourselves to repeat the same cycles, because a new one is perhaps too scary or might be harder. But the path towards our own truth, towards the end of suffering is much more difficult. This is the path of honesty, of authenticity.

By the way, I am not going to tell you to take the road less traveled, or present you with some hollow interpretation via Robert Frost because in all honesty, that poem has been grossly misinterpreted.  (http://www.smithsonianmag.com/smithsonian-institution/what-gives-robert-frosts-road-not-taken-its-power-180956200/?no-ist )

We need to be the Hermit, The Shaman, The Buddha, the Christ Figure (or any other symbol of a retreat in the wilderness and the exploration the inner life), seeking to understand the nature of our own suffering and the limitations we put on ourselves. We must ask ourselves, how have we been in our own way lately? Doing so, is the only way we break from the probable, from the tedious, from the petty. That is the only way that human beings as a whole will reach the distance future, for so many systems of suffering have been created by relying on structures we want to last forever, but are in fact impermanent.

In short, find trust in yourself. And for those of us who create, “Do you work and Step Back, The only path to serenity” (via Tao Te Ching verse 9). We must accept that the inner voice or our creations may never be shared with the wider world. That’s okay. Recognition, Fame, Respect, these things are all fleeting. Instead focus on the fact that the mere ability to create is the essence of remarkable beauty.

To Me Writing Is…

Moth-in-handsI am a bit in danger of waxing philosophical here… but here goes. To me writing is the solidification of the very potential of the human experience. In other words, writing takes the empty spaces of existence and creates via a spectrum of possibility and imagination.

Lots of big words I know. But this isn’t just about writing, this is about art.

Art has no easily definable value for immediate survival. What purpose does it serve exactly? It does not keep us alive. It does not nourish us or keep us warm during the cold winter. It does not quench our thirst or fulfill any of our other basic needs. Art is primarily based on social interactions and imagination.

Of course, that doesn’t mean it’s not important. The very fact that it is beyond the meager nature of basic survival means that it is something entirely important. Art and writing are a demonstration that we, as human beings have discarded the fear surrounding the acquisition of our primary necessities and taken another step forward into the realm of all that is possible.

In particular, writing shares other worlds, other ideas, other possibilities for humanity to interact with. Ultimately all writing is some sort of fantastical thought experiment (yes even dime novels) asking the question, what would the world (or my world) be like if…

That is the beautiful nature of all art, to ask the questions that we may not be able to ask in our everyday working grind. So many of us work multiple jobs these days or are distracted by sitcoms and reality TV that demonstrate the same plots and patterns over and over again. In a time when humanity is undergoing a sizable crucible, when we have to collectively decide what role we would like to play in the future of our species, art has never been so important.

I believe that experimentation, imagined or real, is the only way forward through the fires of human suffering. I believe (there is an awful lot of my beliefs in here isn’t there?) that art and writing to help create a space for the flowering of all human potential. Fiction in particular gives us the opportunity to step back from ourselves and allow questions to be asked, that we would not normally not ask (A master of this was the well-known author Ursula K. Le Guin) and try on a different pair of shoes or clothes or skin.

So, to me writing is… the nourishment of the soul and a meal for the mind. It is the birth of what we can be and perhaps in time, what we will be.

A Sample Chapter of My Novel…

Readers,

Below is a Sample Chapter from my novel, Upon Stilted Cities: Part 1 The Winds of Change.

If you enjoyed this chapter follow me on Twitter or my Facebook Page. More samples will be posted online at a later date.

This chapter can also be found at: https://michaelkilman.wordpress.com/upon-stilted-cities/

Prologue: The End of a Migration

1.
The city had toppled. Bits of skyscrapers were strewn across the desert. With the city’s legs destroyed, it had collapsed from towering heights. Most of what remained upon the excavated chunk of earth on which the city had previously stood were smoking ruins, shattered mechanized EnViro suits, and sun-dried corpses. Welts from bombs, bullets and energy weapons pockmarked the perimeter, as various vapors cascaded into the late afternoon sky.

Inside the ruin, occasional echoes of weapon fire permeated the stillness in and between the few remaining buildings. But, even that was fading with the day.

Far back from the ruins of Langeles, Roderick awoke and sat up. He was alone in the barrens. His body ached from laying inside his metallic suit for what was probably several hours. The air was a cool forty-eight degrees Celsius, as the sun began its final descent. Perhaps an hour of light remained before the cold night air set in.

Roderick blinked. It was a glorious sunset. Even as seen through the tinted UV protection of his EnViro suit helmet, it was a ritual of beauty, a day that ended in victory. The power core within Langeles still remained, but the bells of the city were ringing for the last time. Langeles would never walk again and without migration, there was only death.

He pressed a small button under his chin and with his left hand pulled off his EnViro suit helmet. Its thick inner liner tugged at his graying hair as the helmet detached. He dropped the helmet to the ground and it thudded against the gravel.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and caressed the tattoo on his neck, the mark of his order; a tree of life with an eye in the center. Most of adherents of the Children of Gaia chose a simple armband on their EnViro suit exterior, but for Roderick, only the mix of blood and ink could mark his tribute and his loyalty.

He felt the fresh air on his face and took a deep breath, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to keep his helmet off for long. The methane would gradually trickle into his lungs with each breathe. Fresh air was a luxury, but it had been a long day, and a little non-filtered air wouldn’t kill him.

He reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow. Already beads of moisture were gathering in the crevices of his wrinkled face and shimmered in the dying light. His light brown eyes reflected the play of colors on the hard rocky earth and the swiftly changing sky.

Pain sprang up his right arm like a horse bucking its mount and his square features tightened. Roderick looked down the length of his right arm and remembered. He sighed. Truth had a funny way of reminding you where you stand. The bloody stump where his right hand been only hours before was now a symbol of his haste. He turned and gazed at the wreckage of his Dugger vehicle behind him. It, like the city, was little more than a smoking ruin.

He untied the makeshift knot in the arm of his suit with his left arm and teeth, then unwrapped the gauze and examined the wound. It was already beginning to stink. He was fortunate that his EnViro suit had maintained his temperature and filtered air, considering the suit was no longer sealed properly. He would need to cauterize the wound, and quickly. If the toxins from the air entered his blood… well, he had better not let it come to that.

A deep and sudden silence slid into his ears. All noise evaporated and a high pitch ringing emerged in the vacancy. Fresh fire burst forth from the remains of Langeles. Even from twenty-six kilometers out, he had temporarily lost his hearing. Roderick shielded his eyes from the blinding white light that issued from the city. He clenched a solitary rock with his left hand for balance, feeling his feet beginning to give way.

It was the power core. An explosion that massive had to be the main power core. Dense smoke seeped into the sky. A hint of a mushroom cloud emerged but was quickly caught by gusting winds and scattered across the landscape, intermingling with the colors of the setting sun.

His men had finally reached it. Where he had failed, they had succeeded.

He stared at the city with anticipation. Where was the blast wave? Detonating a nuke inside the city core should have sent a cascading wave of energy. He should have to be ducking behind a ridge or hunkering down inside a small cave… but nothing was happening. Perhaps they didn’t use the nuke? Maybe his men had figured out a way to overload the core?

It made no difference. He allowed joy to wash over him. Roderick let out of a roar of triumph that caught on to the back of the lingering noise of the explosion and merged into forever.

Roderick fell to his knees and bowed forward, kissing the hardpan. His right stump barely grazed the ground and a shock of pain climbed the length of his arm. He gritted his teeth but did not move from his position of reverence.

“Praise to you Mother. Thank you for your aid in this great victory. I shall not forget the lesson you taught me this day. I shall not act in haste again. It is an honor to sacrifice in your name.”

He pushed his right leg forward and used his left hand to thrust himself upward. Roderick stared at his bloody stump, still feeling where his fingers had been. Despite the immense pain of the open wound, his fingers itched, an itch he would never be able to scratch again.

Long ago someone had told him that all great gains came at great personal cost. If one city had cost him his hand, what would the remaining 11 cities cost him? He imagined himself, limbless and crippled at the end of his quest, or worse. What if he fell short? What if he was unable to stop the drills from piercing the Mother’s soul? He shook off the idea. Gaia would not allow it. Her will was more powerful than the walking monstrosities, wasn’t it?

A pinprick of doubt surfaced like a solitary bubble flowing upwards from the depths of a pond. He had been taught, growing up in the migrating city of Mex, of the great poisoning of Gaia. He learned that many fought to defend Mother Gaia, but all had failed in the wake of the greed and lust of so many powerful companies and corrupt politicians. When Gaia had grown too harsh, and had tried to eradicate humans with climate change, what had humans done? They built the wretched stilted cities and survived like a walking plague in perpetual motion, always escaping the sandstorms and apolicanes.

Apolicanes had made the coastal regions of the earth unlivable. Migrating cities were able to visit briefly to stock up on water from the vast and mostly lifeless oceans, but if they lingered, even more than a few weeks, they risked facing an Apolicane, a massive storm system that could span nearly a thousand miles with winds of more than 350 kilometers per hour.

It was rumored across long memory, that the Apolicanes were not in themselves natural, but yet another attempt for man to try and control his environment, some climate management system gone wrong. Roderick had never known if that particular story was true, but considering all the desperate things humans had done at the end of the 21st century, he wouldn’t be surprised.

His progenitors had called the cities the miracle that saved humanity. They had become giant arks keeping alive those that would continue to pillage the earth’s resources. Drilling deeper and deeper, scraping for every last raw material to maintain the mobile city infrastructure. To a city, Gaia was nothing but a giant piece of salvage, something to continue to exploit. Humans had learned nothing from history, nothing at all.

He stood surveying all that was barren. Today was a good day, a cause for celebration. Roderick smiled lifting his aching body and turning his attention back to the fallen city. The ruins roused his courage, his determination. There, in the smoking ruins, was the evidence that it was possible to rid the earth of its infestation. He would not fail. The last hope anyone would have of repairing the city ended with the destruction of the power core. They could repair the massive 150 meter legs, assuming they were able to avoid a sandstorm. They could repair the drill and the holes in the hull of the city, but the destruction of the power core marked its finality. The city of Langeles and its people were no more.

What of his haste? What of his disregard for Mother Gaia? So much had gone right, but what had gone wrong? Roderick closed his eyes and reviewed the events of the morning assault.

 

The city had begun drilling operations. Migration was halted so that resource extraction could begin. A massive drill protruded from the lower hunk of rock underneath the city and was burrowing into the earth.

“Commander, all Duggers are submerged, in position, and await your orders,” said Patrick Lions. His face appeared before Roderick on his view screen. Patrick was a short, round, balding man who barely fit inside of a standard EnViro suit.

“Excellent. What’s the status on the special delivery?” asked Roderick.

“The package has been delivered to the cities AI Commander. Rocky said the primary shield should fail shortly. One thing though, he also said the secondary shield is definitely an isolated system and it’s unlikely the virus will deactivate it.”

“Yes, Rocky had warned me earlier. The city should still be thrown into chaos. What’s the status on city leg security?”

“One moment commander, I’ll check.”

Roderick squirmed in the cramped quarters of the Dugger. He disliked being below ground in the Dugger transports. Duggers had been designed for numerous conditions in severe climate change during the late 21st century and were usually effective means of transport in the barrens. They had a small drill and two claw like arms on the front of the vehicle that dug below shallow surfaces. They were a kind of land submarine, periscope sensors and all. These particular ones had been salvaged from the fallen city of Mex, which had been destroyed by a freak accident.

“Commander,” said Patrick, “Leg security has been deactivated. Should we send in Miss and her team?”

“No, stick to the plan. Shields fall first, then we send in the main attacking force, then we send Miss and her teams to plant the tactical nukes on the legs. If we deviate from the plan it will be like Saud. You remember Saud, don’t you Patrick?”

“Yes Commander.” Patrick’s voice was notably lower in pitch and his eyes cast downward.

“It took 70 years to rebuild the Order after Saud, Patrick. Have faith in the Great Mother. She has blessed this plan. Langeles will fall before the sun sets.”

“Has she…” Patrick hesitated over the com line. Roderick heard the hesitation. He knew that Patrick’s faith in Gaia had wavered of late. Many of his soldier’s faith had wavered. Inaction was a plague that could spread quickly and three years of planning was a long time.

“Has the Great Mother spoken with you about this plan Commander? I… I only ask out of curiosity, of course.” Patrick’s voice contained a hint of tremor.

Roderick smiled, showing his ancient tobacco stained teeth. “Of course Patrick. It was the Great Mother who devised this plan. She gave it to me in a powerful vision and showed me the city of Langeles on fire. She showed me that other cities would come for salvage after the fire. And then,” excitement washed over Roderick’s anticipation, “Then, we will destroy them as well. Mother Gaia has brought us Rocky and Miss so that we could carry out the plan. Have faith Patrick. We cannot lose this day. Today is the first of many victories.”

It was true that the plan had come to him in a vision that the mother had spoken to him. The timing of Miss and Rocky joining the cause was perfect, but even Roderick’s faith had been shaken at Saud and his own impatience was bubbling up to the surface. They needed a victory.

“The primary shield is down Commander,” said Patrick.

“AI, confirm?” said Roderick.

“Sir, I confirm the primary shield system surrounding Langeles has fallen. Secondary shields surrounding their security buildings and storm shelters have been activated.”

“Excellent. There will be riots inside the city over access to those shelters.” said Roderick. “You see Patrick? Mother’s plan will sew chaos inside the city while we destroy the legs. Send in the primary attacking force.”

“All of them sir?”

“Yes, all of them, including your elite team. I want to keep their Runner Core busy.” Seven hundred men were in the main attacking force and only three dozen were on leg detail. Roderick’s personal guard, consisted of only twenty-three men and women. He would hold his force until the nukes detonated, shattering the great legs. Then he and his personal guard would head straight for the city’s core and nail shut Langeles’s coffin.

“Yes Commander. May Gaia bless your path,” said Patrick.

“And may Gaia bless yours, Patrick. I will see you on the other side. Keep the mother in your heart and we cannot fail.”

Roderick watched his screen in the Dugger. He watched as the several dozen transport vehicles began moving towards the city. Most of them surfaced and crept along on treaded tires, but a few were still moving under the sand and hard earth. The ones under the ground would travel below the combatants and flank the Langeles Runner Core from behind.

They were greatly outnumbered. From what his spy said, Langeles had 2300 Runners ready for combat. Roderick only had 1300 under his command and several hundred were women and children back at Atlantis base. The fallen shield would give them a sizable advantage.

The EnViro shield surrounding the walking cities wasn’t just for defense in combat. The Shield was also used to create an enclosed ecosystem. Without the shield most of the cities inhabitants would be slowly poisoned by the toxic air and cooked in the extraordinary heat. Secondary shields were set up around important buildings in the event that the primary shield failed, but with two million people in the city and only room for tens of thousands in the secondary shielding shelters, there would be chaos. Numerous Runners would have to be deployed inside the city to maintain order. Langeles’s citizens were weapons mobilized in the Mother’s cause; every man, woman, and child an agent of chaos, an inadvertent solider in the Children of Gaia, to be offered up in sacrifice to the Great Mother.

The radar on screen saw the dots consolidating about a kilometer outside the cities boundary. Over the coms came Patrick’s voice. “Duggers, mount artillery and fire. Infantry Dismount and engage. Be ready. Here they come.”

Underneath the soil Roderick felt the ground begin to vibrate. Langeles had already opened fire with its rail guns blasting huge holes in the rocky desert. But, with the shield gone, Roderick knew their ability to use the rail guns would be limited. The guns ran off the same power grid as the main shield system. Naturally after a few shots the guns would stop and the majority of Langeles Runner core would need to be deployed in defense. Fresh blips on the radar screen were already beginning to appear. Roderick knew those must be the Langeles Runners.

“AI, status check on our cargo?”

“Sir, all three atomic weapons are stable and ready for deployment.”

“Excellent. Open a channel to Miss.”

Miss, a strikingly beautiful woman, appeared on screen. Her deep blue eyes, olive skin, and black hair were everything that Roderick desired. His second in command stared back through the communications line awaiting instructions.

“It’s time Miss. Uncouple the cargo cars and take down the legs. The main force and the fallen shield will keep Langeles security distracted.”

“Yes Commander. May Gaia Bless your path.”

“And yours Miss.”

Roderick felt a jolt as the cargo car he had taxied was uncoupled from his Dugger. He felt lighter, more eager than before. His plan was unfolding perfectly so far.

Time passed and Roderick grew increasingly agitated. He hated sitting back and waiting while the rest of his troops were out fighting. So much could go wrong.

Roderick watched as the 8th and 9th nukes were attached to the cities legs. Only a few more nukes to go and then he would draw his troops back.

Then something went wrong.

Over the com came Miss’s voice, the signal fragmented. “Commander… spotted us. Seven men… Confirmed that the…. 10th… Leg. Should… detonate?

“Repeat that Miss I didn’t catch all of it.”

“Signal… Under attack… Legs… Retreating.”

“No! Don’t retreat. Finish the Mission and then get out of there.”

“Ten… planted… retreating… distance. Gaia…”

The signal evaporated. “AI what’s happening out there.”

“It appears that the Langeles Runner Core have discovered the leg team. Most of the team has been destroyed. However, based on radiation scans it looks like at least ten of the legs have a tactical nuclear weapon attached to them.”

“And Miss?”

“Her life signs are still strong. It appears she is back in her vehicle and moving away quickly.”

“AI, start the detonation clock. Let the Core team know we are moving as soon as the blast wave is clear.”

“Sir, In order to detonate I require a confirmation code.”

“Of course. V638927SI.”

“Thank you Sir. How long would you like the countdown to run?”

“How long will it take for main force to get a safe distance from the blast zone?”

“If they left immediately and put the Duggers at full speed they could be clear in six minutes.”

“Alert Patrick and the main force to disengage immediately.”

“Unfortunately Sir, Patrick Lions no longer has any vital signs.”

“Fine, just alert the remainder of the main force. Set the countdown for fifteen minutes. Alert everyone at two minute intervals. Any longer than that and we risk giving Langeles time to disarm some of the bombs.”

“Acknowledged Sir. Countdown to detonation is now at fifteen minutes.”

It was a long fifteen minutes. Roderick passed the time watching his troops departing to a safe distance from the estimated blast zone. He watched nervously as more of the Langeles Runner Core seem to be gathering around the legs. If they figured out what happening… but Roderick knew it was too late, only six minutes remained in the countdown and there was no way they could disarm the weapons in time.

“Four minutes remaining until detonation.”

This was it. Roderick could feel a kind of giddiness pass over him. It had been a few hundred years since he felt so excited. The city would fall, their plan would work.

“Patience Roderick,” said a powerful and soothing voice.

“Mother Gaia?”

“Yes Roderick. You must have patience. Do not act out of haste now or there will be a heavy price to pay.”

“Yes my Goddess, of course. Forgive me, I am unable to prostrate to you in this vehicle.”

There was no response.

“Mother Gaia?”

Still no answer.

“Two minutes remain until detonation,” said the AI.

What did Mother Gaia mean by patience? Did it mean that he would have to wait to assault the core? Did it mean that he should cancel the detonation?

“Sixty seconds remaining until detonation.”

A wave of panic washed over Roderick. He quickly reviewed the morning’s events. Had he overlooked anything? The AI began to countdown the final thirty seconds. He smashed his fist into the steering wheel and his anger burst forth at the same moment the bombs on the legs detonated.

Roderick watched over his view screen as the blast drowned out all vision with a great blinding light. He wondered if all of his men had remembered not to look directly into that light. A mighty roaring noise pressed itself against the ground and waves of sand and rock shifted above the Dugger.

In the view screen, Roderick saw the city kneeling down towards the earth, like a man kneeling beside the dying body of a brother in arms. The west end sunk first, smashing into the hard earth of the barrens. Skyscrapers broke in half and pieces scattered as they cascaded toward the ground. Then, finally, the rock slab of earth on which the city rested, slanted up towards the sky, on the hard desert earth.

Roderick’s rage and frustration were forgotten, as were the words of the mother. Roderick’s cheeks pulled upwards and a smile bloomed on his face.

Roderick opened a com line. “The Great Mother has brought us to the brink of victory my brothers, but we must not tarry. Main force, resume your attack, mop up what’s left of the Langeles Runners. Core team, you are with me. CHARGE!”

The vehicle vibrated violently and the sand on top of the clear glass cockpit began to move and shake. As the vehicle moved up above the surface of the ground Roderick’s view cleared. The vehicle lurched forward, its large treaded tank like tires gripping the earth.

The Dugger gained speed and began moving more quickly towards Roderick’s final destination. He felt his heart beginning to pound. He was almost there. The outline of the city grew larger with every passing second and in only a few minutes he would be on the outskirts of fallen Langeles.

A proximity alert flashed in the vehicle view screen and the AI spoke. “Warning, incoming projectile. Five seconds until impact.”

Roderick looked down at his radar. He saw the red blip approaching the vehicle. He grabbed the steering wheel and jerked it left to avoid a direct hit, but it was too late.

The RPG struck the ground just below the Dugger’s rear left tire and sent Roderick spinning through the air, rotating like a corkscrew. The vehicle connected with the ground in a series of long hops and Roderick felt his right hand catch in the steering wheel. The sounds of tearing metal screamed through the air as the vehicle slid and came to a wrenching halt.

Silence hovered. Only the wind dared to raise its voice. Tiny dust devils formed and spun and caught some of the smoke that gradually began to rise from the Dugger. Behind, the city of Langeles had caught fire.

A cacophony of noise returned and Roderick, dazed from what was probably a concussion, pulled the emergency cockpit hatch release with his left hand. He reached up with his right hand to pull himself up and out of the cockpit, only to realize his hand wasn’t there. Confused, he looked down the length of his arm. A mangled stump of flesh, shredded muscle, and bone were oozing blood down the exterior of his EnViro suit. All Roderick could do was stare. No pain came to him, only shock and surprise.

Where had his hand gone? He glanced back into the cockpit with only a hint of concern. Scanning the cockpit he saw a metallic gauntlet still gripping the steering wheel. Bone and blood dripped at the end of the gauntlet. Roderick looked at his stump, then at the steering wheel, then back to his stump again.

Roderick stretched out his left arm and reached for the gauntlet. In his denial, he had thought it a simple matter to plug the hand back into the arm, like a robot or a child’s toy. His left hand wrapped around the gauntlet, the first instinct simply to pull it from the steering wheel. It would not release. Then, he tried to pry one finger at a time off the wheel, still no luck. He had heard of a death grip before but… he started to chuckle to himself but the laughter caught up with reality and it caught in his throat. He almost choked on it.

Frustrated he turned his head out towards the burning city. There he saw someone standing only a stone’s throw away from him. It was a Runner, fully armed and in a combat ready EnViro suit. A high caliber pistol was aimed at Roderick’s face.

If Roderick had looked up only a single second later, it would have been the end of him. Roderick threw the rest of his body out of vehicle and rolled behind a solitary rock as the Runner opened fire. Bullets sprayed the terrain. One of the Runners bullets ricocheted off the metal of the Dugger and sunk into the Runner’s shin, forcing him to fall to one knee. Roderick, seeing his chance, jumped up and reached down for his sidearm in his EnViro suit. His bloody stump mashed against the holster and Roderick screamed in pain.

The scream further stunned the Runner and he dropped his weapon taking few steps back. Roderick reached across his body with left hand. He struggled, grasping at the butt of the revolver from the awkward angle, and finally, pulled it from his holster. He aimed and fired clumsily until the clip was empty. One of the bullets struck home. A single hole opened in the runner’s face shield, behind it, blood splattered and the Runner rolled to his side, dead.

Roderick sat and slumped against the rock.

“AI?”

“Yes Sir?”

“Are there any more surprises out here for me?”

“No Sir. I do not detect any more Runners in the immediate vicinity.”

“How…” Roderick was starting to feel weak and tired. Blood was dripping occasionally into his eyes from a small gash on his head. “How… are we doing… out there?”

“My apologies Sir, your inquiry must be more specific.”

“Progress of… my… troops?” His breathing was slowing down and the lids of his eyes felt heavy.

“Sir, the Core team has penetrated the perimeter and the main force appears to be overwhelming the remains of the Langeles Runner Core. I calculate that you have an 87% chance of victory at this point.”

“Good, good… How many dead?”

“Exact figures at this time are difficult to calculate because of various reports of your troops and some conflicting data from the Langeles AI. However, I calculate the total death toll at 1,752,892.”

Roderick felt a pang of frustration. “No, ours. How many of ours are…”

“Ah, I see. According to life sign readings there are 289 casualties,”

Muttering more to himself then to the AI, Roderick asked, “Why was that Runner… out here?”

“Standard drill deployment procedure requires that a city deploy four perimeter Runners in each of the cardinal directions. Runners are instructed to set up sensor beacons and report anything unusual.”

“Why… didn’t he see us… earlier?”

“My apologies sir, I do not know.”

“Haste… Mother… sorry for my…” Roderick coughed. The remainder of his words caught in his throat. He closed his eyes.

 

 

Roderick opened his eyes back in the present. He stood and turned moving towards the wrecked Dugger. He pried open the cargo hatch and began to rummage through the medical supplies. He would have to review the morning events again later, but for now he needed to tend to his arm. It took him a moment but then he found what he was looking for, an emergency flair, an antibiotic shot, some morphine, and an EnViro suit sealant patch.

He dropped the sealant patch on the ground. He lifted the morphine syringe case up to his mouth and used both his teeth and his left hand to open the case. He grabbed the syringe out with his mouth and used his left hand to pull up the armored sleeve on his right arm. He grabbed the syringe and injected it a few inches above the messy stump. It hurt, but the pain was minimal in comparison to the exposed nerves.

“All right. AI?”

“Yes Sir?”

“If I pass out I need you to wake me immediately. Don’t let me fall asleep.”

“As you wish Sir.”

The morphine acted quickly. It didn’t block out the pain entirely but it was much more manageable. Roderick winced in advance. He knew what was coming next.

He pressed the trigger on the flare. The short flames sputtered and licked the sky at various heights. He braced himself as he slowly brought his left hand towards his right arm.

Roderick thrust the blue flame onto his stump and screamed. A scream that carried across the kilometers, a war cry of pain and victory. Roderick felt his body’s desire to lose consciousness, he fought it. Only a few more seconds and the wound would be closed.

Those last few seconds felt like an eternity. He could bare it no longer. He turned off the torch. Quickly, he injected anti-biotics directly into the wound. Grimacing again at the pain, he withdrew his stump from the open spot in his suit. He picked up the sealant patch off the ground and placed it on the edge of the tear. He watched the sealant patch come to life and spread itself over the tears in his suit where his hand had once been. The pain eased. By morning the wound would be well scabbed over and though the pain would linger, the danger of infection would be over.

Roderick considered laying down in the back of the wrecked Dugger for a moment, then thought better of it. He had to be visible, had to contact his men. It was either that, or he had to find shelter before daybreak.

Roderick reviewed the day again and again, through the hazy mirage of morphine. He knew it was unfortunate that Rocky’s virus required the cities security codes to work properly. The Langeles codes had not been easy to come by. Eleven cities remained and Roderick could think of only one certain path to absolute victory, especially with almost a fifth of his force destroyed. Runner 17 was the key. If he wanted to destroy the rest of the cities, he would have to find him.

Science Fiction + Anthropology???

I always have a lot of irons in the fire. I work on film projects, create visual art, write and teach. However, everything I do is grounded in one thing, Anthropology.

When I was an undergraduate I changed my major… a lot. I started out in music performance (I was in rock bands and jazz bands playing the guitar) and realized that I was nowhere near as good as some of my fellow classmates. I got burned out and quit school for a while. When I went back I tried majoring in English and Creative Writing and then in Philosophy. Then one semester, I decided to take an Intro to Cultural Anthropology and it changed my life.

I quickly realized, that my whole life I have been fascinated by human beings and other cultures. After taking that course, I switched my major to Anthropology and Religious Studies. I went on to do field research schools in Northern Mexico and on Ute Mountain Ute Indian Reservation in Southern Colorado. Then I went to graduate school at Portland State University and worked on a project with 17 Native American Tribes of the Great Basin and a project that involved a community theater troupe in Denver. After finishing graduate school I began teaching at Metro State University of Denver and the University of Colorado at Denver.

There is little more I enjoy, then exploring other ways of knowing and experiencing the world. I have always wanted to understand what it would be like to see the world through many different sets of eyes.

So what in the world does this have to do with Science Fiction? Well a lot actually. Science Fiction, as most of you reading this probably know, is about creating a unique and different world from our own. It is about imagining the future (Note: for a wonderful blog on Indigenous Science Fiction visit https://medium.com/space-anthropology/navajos-on-mars-4c336175d945#.3sgnjptnl ) and other possibilities and potentials. In short, science fiction is about stepping back and trying to see the world through a unique set of eyes. This is not unlike cultural anthropology.

This is one of the reasons that my novel ‘Upon Stilted Cities’ doesn’t just have a singular main character/protagonist. Instead you view the world from several different individuals, each with unique perspective on a future world with giant walking cities. There are several different cultures within the book and I even took time to do some additional research on those cultures in the present and then attempted to imagine their future. Basically, I wanted to try and create a world that was as authentic and diverse as possible, all while crafting an engaging story with unique characters.

Science Fiction does not need to be informed by Anthropology, but the two are certainly complementary, just look at one of the greatest writers of the 20th century, Kurt Vonnegut http://www.openculture.com/2014/02/kurt-vonnegut-masters-thesis-rejected-by-u-chicago.html