Fexmouth

/ˈfɛksməθ/

Now binging:
Overwatch

  • Zoology

    person sitting on an aquarium window
    Photo by Ivy Son on Pexels.com

    Youssef liked animals. And he was a gentle person, although he could be domineering and condescending, in the breezy way that people who were convinced of their superiority was. He was quick to apologize whenever I pointed it out to him. He really didn’t mean to. But as a doctor he thought that he had the right, and in some ways he did, and that was one of the things that I loved about him the most.

    We loved to go to the aquarium. We would go inside and look at the fish. One of the larger tuna fish in the big aquarium we called Boris, and we treated him like he was our friend, and we checked up on him often. After that, we ate at one of the many restaurants that lined the bay. I loved walking among the people. I loved the night illuminated via streetlamp. He hated it and thought that the Manila streets smelled worse than death. And he’s smelled death many, many times; he was a doctor. Still, those were when he had the time to be with me. Most of the other times, he was at the emergency room at St. Luke’s.

    One night, while eating at a kbbq place, he was quiet. That wasn’t very unusual but I felt something. I felt like he wanted to tell me something. His parents were from the Middle East. Youssef had a big nose and large, doe eyes. I loved those eyes. It made it so that whatever he looked at, it seemed as if he was experiencing the most intense wonder. Like he was amazed always by the world. Which wasn’t true. He wasn’t so naïve. Although he loved animals. He adored animals.

    “Anything wrong?” I said.

    “I’ve been thinking,” he said. He was holding his chopsticks awkwardly. He had not used chopsticks much because his family did not like eating Korean or Chinese or Japanese food. He learned later in life, and he learned wrong. “I think we need to part ways.”

    “I don’t understand. Why?”

    He placed the chopsticks down. He took a sip of water. “I’ve just been so busy recently. And having to juggle my work with being in a relationship… It’s not working. I need to focus. And I barely have time to rest.”

    “Okay, so we don’t meet as often,” I said. “That’s alright. We don’t need to break up.”

    “No, I think this is for the best. I’m sorry.”

    He was looking at me. And those eyes were so big and clear that I could almost feel the guilt and shame and anxiety and fear that was emanating from within, like a ray of light, beaming directly from the deepest parts of him. From that light that only God could make and has Himself given, personally.

    I said okay. And then we finished our meal while talking about the reasons why. He was willing to explain it all. He said that he was better off alone. That he spent much time thinking about me, and whether he was good to me, and he didn’t like that, because he preferred to think about his work, and how he could make better use of his time as a doctor, and what he should specialize in.

    As a matter of fact I always knew that he was too good for me. He was so handsome and accomplished. I saw how women looked at him. One of my friends could not stop talking about him when she first met him. And I was sure of his loyalty, and so actually I enjoyed it, how she went on and on about him, clearly infatuated. She saw what I saw in him. It wasn’t hard to see.

    When we went out of the restaurant, I still held his hand. And he held mine. And we took a walk like we usually did. I heard the sea. Waves crashing against the concrete. Clipped and unintelligible conversation of people passing by. Music from karaoke bars and stalls and jeepneys with their radios too loud.

    At around midnight, we went in his car, and he drove me home. And I wept. And he said, “I’m sorry,” and I said, “If you’re sorry, then why are you leaving me?” And he didn’t know what to say. But of course you can’t make someone stay. They have to want to stay. Otherwise, that meant nothing. Otherwise, you were treating them like a pet. I didn’t only want him to stay. I wanted him to want to stay, and see in me what I saw in him. But he didn’t.

    When we got to my apartment I said he should come up so that he could pick up his things. The clothes he left there. His toothbrush. His game controller. His mug. His shoes. He came up with me, and I sat on the bed while he got his things, which he put in a Muji paper shopping bag from when we went there and shopped together and I got us matching slippers that I never got to see him wear. His blue plaid slippers were still beside my pink ones by my bedroom door.

    I told him to bring them. He asked me if I was sure. And I said: “Do you want me to keep remembering you whenever I look at those things?” And he muttered fair enough and took them.

    When he was done, he stood there for a second.

    He wanted to say goodbye but he didn’t know how or what to say. So, I stood up and wrapped my arms around him and kissed him. He was taller than me, and I had to look up at him.

    He kissed me, too, and I lifted his shirt and removed it. And he let me. We made love, just like before, as if nothing happened. When we were done, we were lying side by side, and fell asleep. I turned to my side, and I saw the shopping bag, still against the door.

    When I woke up, he was already awake, lying beside me still without his clothes, watching videos on his phone at very low volume. The blanket snug against his midsection, below his hairy chest. It was like any other time that we had woken up after having sex.

    I said, “So, you’re going now?”

    “Yeah,” he said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

    “It’s okay.”

    “I wish you the best. I only want the best for you.”

    “Then why are you leaving me?”

    He didn’t say anything. We sat there, dumbfounded, like idiots, for a while. Until he said, “Well, I have to go.” And he kissed me on the cheek and he stood up and he put his briefs on again and his pants and his belt and his shirt. He sat on the bed again to put on his socks and his shoes. And I was just there, naked, watching him preparing to walk out of my life. To walk his own way, which was a different way from mine.

    He took out his car keys and removed from the hoop the key to my apartment. He gave it to me. And then he kissed me on the cheek again and said, “Goodbye, Arya.”

    “Can I text you?”

    “No,” he said. “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

    “Okay.”

    “I’ll show myself out.”

    “Lock the door.”

    “Yeah. I will,” he said. And he took the paper bag and he left.

  • The Walking Dead S4, E8: “Too Far Gone”

    I’m glad to see that the governor was given two episodes to flesh out his character. Now, I think his is an interesting character, although I am still very much bothered with his portrayal. His Elvis Presley accent in particular is bothersome and at times unintentionally humorous. Moreover, despite him having a family, I do not feel any sympathy for him. If anything, the fact that he could still be a cold-blooded and selfish murderer despite having found a new family, or the beginnings of one, makes me dislike him even more. And not in the way that one might dislike villains because of their cruelty. He seems only like the worst of human trash: Opportunistic without lofty aim. Lacking principles.

    Rick shows great leadership here in that he makes a speech about hope. And he was about to succeed. We will never know what would have happened Rick did not become enraged when the Governor killed Herschel (who was my favorite character). Perhaps his thugs would have realized that he is a plain, selfish murderer, especially after he killed a defenseless old man. But Rick’s weakness once again makes an appearance when he loses his cool and starts the gunfight.

    Also, we see how much of a badass Michonne is when she dodges all those bullets simply by rolling like a log.

    I knew that Herschel was going to die at some point. I’m just sad that he had to die in the manner that he did. I believed that he was destined for greater things and a spectacular death. Instead, he died a captive. He was an extraordinarily brave and caring man. He risked getting infected with whatever disease was going around the prison because he wanted to help the sick even if it killed him. The end times will be propped up by people like Herschel, much more than people like Rick: Brave men who do what must be done with compassion and equanimity and determination from their deeply held principles.

    I was very surprised, too, when Zombie Apocalypse Elvis Presley’s newly adopted daughter was killed. I think it was handled deftly, in terms of how it was portrayed, although one cannot escape once again feeling that the story beat was rushed as well as too convenient. But ZAEP’s lack of hesitation when doing away with her so that she did not turn shows that Rick besting him as a leader finally and truly broke him. When Michonne killed his zombie daughter in Dewbury, he still had something despite that enormous loss. He knew that he was still capable of becoming a leader, of making great sacrifices to bring people together and allow them to survive and thrive. But seeing Rick almost win the battle before it even began with his charisma (speaking within universe; I do not think he is charismatic) showed him that, finally, he had nothing left. And seeing that her newly adopted daughter was now also dead reinforced that.

    I am not sure why the people went through with storming the prison. There was nothing to gain from doing that. The walkers would have been attracted to the place due to the noise, as they mentioned. The prison was ruined. The people who were already living there (Rick’s group) would have been needed to maintain the farms that they have already set up. And there was no reason to take the inevitable losses. Rick fired shots, and he should have been dealt with because of the danger he posed, but coming in with the tank was not a very good decision. That is what the Governor wanted, and perhaps they could have been swayed by the force of his personality—but why would they be? He was not especially compelling, and he had not been able to do much for the camp since he came into power. So, why were they so loyal to him as to risk their lives?

    It doesn’t make sense to me. And when things are presented arbitrarily like this, it weakens the story. It becomes a series of events that, although exciting, do not present insight into the human condition or what it is like to live in such times. I just want the Governor to go away and for a more compelling villain to take the stage. I miss Merle.

    The Governor’s death also left me wanting more. I’m a big believer in speeches during death scenes. As a convention, it is dramatic and an opportunity to “sum up” that character’s purpose. There is a right way and wrong way to do it, of course. Still, it would have been better than simply seeing him writhe there on the grass. And of course Michonne should have sliced off his head. Big mistake. We are shown that he might have been shot in the head and killed. But we don’t know that for sure.  

    Finally, we see that Judith is probably dead. The death of a child, especially a baby, is always the darkest an event could possibly be. And there is not much to be said here. I suppose what matters now is what the characters will make of it. After having lost so much, and already being riddled with grief, I do not know how Rick can go on.

  • Zombie Apocalypse: Leadership

    The intersecting web of institutions in our modern life takes care of much of the ambiguity that is present in everyday reality. We do not notice it anymore, except during extreme moments of strife. For example, we have laws, which inscribe in concrete terms what we can and cannot do. But there are also moral conventions, traditions, religion, culture, &c., that we can rely on to dispel with ambiguity, whether personal, familial, societal, political, or to some degree even global.

    In the event of an apocalyptic scenario, these institutions will crumble. Many things will become ambiguous again. One of the main driving forces of this ambiguity is the ensuing scarcity that not only incentivizes brutal competition but also makes it impossible to maintain such institutions.

    Now, although it is possible to think through every ambiguity, so that we arrive at a suitable solution or compromise (although not necessarily the correct one), the state of things during an apocalypse also means that many times there will be no time to think. Thus, decision-making for the most pressing matters needs to be delegated to a knowledgeable few, or even a single leader. There will be many cases wherein an imperfect swift decision is better than the perfect solution that never comes.

    Time and urgency are the most crucial factors that necessitate the presence of a strong, decisive, knowledgeable leader. And the decisions of this leader need to be protected, at least to a degree. Although this leader must be accountable, they cannot be accountable in the way that leaders today are. The circumstances are simply too different; they will have to make decisions that they themselves are ashamed of. But this is the moral cost of survival. In the apocalypse, all kinds of sacrifices must be made—physical, mental, emotional, and moral. The leader must bear the brunt of that.

    There will have to be a balance between the beastly and the angelic natures embodied in the human person. A purely angelic person will be defeated by the beast; the beast will be torn asunder by other beasts or themselves.

    At the plainest, more basic level, however, the leader must be competent. They must be able to obtain resources, handle disputes, and deal with enemies within and without. But they will have the help of their group. Even with regard decisions, the leader will ideally have advisors. But the ultimate privilege of the leader is the ability to make decisions with reference to nothing: They make distinct what is arbitrary. They make definite what is vague. They say what is and what is not, in a time when certitude is as scarce as anything else.

  • Zombie Apocalypse: Discipline

    The military will be a crucial actor during a zombie apocalypse. The military is a kind of society within a society, not only composed of soldiers but doctors, engineers, mechanics, &c., all highly trained for combat situations. This is why it is crucial that they remain under civilian control: They are essentially a mirror of ordinary society but composed of stronger individuals. Without that guarantee of civilian control, they take it over through their superior prowess and discipline, as has been the case throughout human history, as we see in cases ranging from martial law to full-on juntas.

    As we saw in the Season 3 finale of The Walking Dead, the difference between armed individuals and soldiers is discipline. Although the Governor had many more people than Rick, it did not take much for them to flee. When complaining to the Governor of what they had to go through, a woman exclaims: “We’re not soldiers!”

    Worth noting here that when I say discipline, I am speaking more precisely about military discipline and not everyday, individual discipline. In military theory, discipline is just about as important as weaponry or training. Soldiers will not do what they need to do if they do not have discipline: “Discipline is behavior tempered by high moral standards. It is the willing adherence to the organizational values and to the shared expectations of the unit, even in the absence of supervision” (ADP 6-22).

    Carl von Clauswitz, who first saw war is a science, dedicated much thought on discipline. He realized that war is fundamentally danger; thus, orders can only be successfully carried out in the battlefield if the soldiers possess personal courage. That is to say, the first and primary quality of the soldier is courage—this, when embodied, is what we call discipline.

    It is not reasonable to expect that everyone in a settlement will have the discipline to become a soldier. At the soonest possible time (but no sooner), a settlement must create a professional class of order keepers. These people must have no duties, or barely any other duties, apart from maintaining the peace. Whatever time they have outside of doing their work must be spent training.

    Just as crucial as any work they do and every bit of knowledge they have regarding weapons, formations, tactics, strategy, &c., is discipline. They must follow orders, even in the face of extreme and deadly danger. Otherwise, they would not have the fortitude to enact that knowledge, and so it would be essentially useless.

    Discipline is particularly important when certain actions that need to be performed involve an emotional element. For example, there might be times when members of the group must be dealt with harshly. Sacrifices might need to be made that affects the weakest members. There might be extreme circumstances wherein innocent people may be hurt. In such cases, ordinary people might not be up for the task, and a highly disciplined class is needed to accomplish them.

    Once again, this is a material necessity that goes back to the dawn of human civilization. The warrior class was venerated for a reason, and until today the people we know as nobility are people descended from warriors (which is why many members of royal families around the world are given numerous military honors, even if they have never substantially served in the military). But although our material capabilities return to the ancients, our values do not, which makes handling an armed force more complicated. Which makes discipline much more important, not only in terms of spurring people to action but in curbing our baser impulses.

  • The Walking Dead S3, E16: “Welcome to the Tombs”

    The best parts of the previous episodes are seeing the Governor become increasingly evil. At least now I have someone to hate. The previous episodes felt very aimless character studies, and not very good ones. Still, the Governor makes me roll my eyes whenever he does something. His motivations are so muddled and his methods are so stupid. I suppose that some of them are made so that we can say the villain is devious and a liar, but it only makes him look like a buffoon, and we cannot really be afraid of buffoons.

    One might think that Merle is the real buffoon. He is the deadly jester. But not really. Again, I think Merle is the more compelling villain, and I hoped that his end would have more to it, although the heroic end he got wasn’t too bad. He got his redemption, which by the logic of such stories had to come at one point or another. Although I could not help but wish that his sacrifice was more impactful.

    I am also growing very weary of Rick. Although I know he is riddled with grief, he is also supposed to be the strongest of them. This is what it means to be a leader. There will be more sacrifices to come, and he will have to bear the brunt of that, if he is going to be the first and last among this group. But he simply could not contain himself. Every member of the group has experienced loss at some point or another. Herschel lost a child and carried on with his duties that very same night.

    In the end, when he chooses not to give up Michonne, I suppose we see that he has the nobility we expect from leaders. But the fact that he had to make his way to that conclusion bothers me. Why was he so conflicted? How could he, at all, think that this was even an option? To hand over a member of their group? That should not even have been a consideration. It would have been easy to simply slip out of the prison and find somewhere else to go. In any case, they were within the sights of a much more powerful foe. Who is to say that the Governor won’t demand something of them again? Extort them? Exterminate them for their resources later?

    The decision is baffling, even if consider that it was made for dramatic purposes. I do not consider Rick heroic or honorable; I consider him arbitrary and selfish. And most of all confused. He has no plan. He has no values. And the things that he considers important, he finds out slowly, as circumstances “reveal” it to them. This feels to me like someone who has not had much time for introspection in his life; who is basically unfamiliar with himself. Although there is nothing inherently wrong with this, as this is part of the journey of life, this certainly is a sign that he should not be the leader. He even looks the other way when his son commits murder. Even though he could not really be sure because he was not there, he does not even consider the situation grave enough that he must immediately discuss the situation with his son. I consider this a serious moral issue as a father.

    I am not sure why Michonne is not the leader. She is decisive. She is capable of handling her emotions. She is decisive. She is tough. And she has an ironclad moral compass that she is also capable of pursuing with a sense of humor (as when she insisted on accompanying Carl to obtain a family picture, taking a figurine cat with her as well). And she was even capable of shedding tears for Andrea, her friend—who I also never liked. Andrea means well, but once again she seemed the entire time to be clueless, confused, and unsure of what she wants. She also sleeps with the Governor despite never having any emotional connection with him apart from him revealing his real name.

    When Andrea and Rick have a moment as Andrea died, it was like watching two stupid people commemorate their stupidity that led them there. It was awkward, and Andrea mentioning the safety was lame—it was almost as if she had spent her time suffering there with a bite wound thinking about how she could make a witty remark when her friends show up for her. Even Rick looked like he wanted to say something about how ridiculous it was, but held himself back because she was about to die in a stunning show of tact.

    Andrea did not even thank Michonne for all she did for her. I suppose their bond means that those words did not need to be said, but a little thankfulness and contrition would have been good, since Michonne saved her, fed her, took care of her while she was sick, and stayed with her as she died.

    Overall, I do not find the characters, the world, or the storytelling in this series compelling. The stupid are given too much airtime; the compelling are ignored or killed. Seems to me we have enough of this in the real world. In a show like this, we could use some poetic justice. And because it only runs around 40 minutes, perhaps we could focus on the best aspects of this world and not whatever Rick and Andrea are supposed to be.

    This season is a series of disappointments and false starts. Apart from a few interesting moments, we barely if ever gain any insight into the most in captivating aspects of a world destroyed by a zombie apocalypse. We are expected to feel deeply all the while being given the most shallow of impressions. The pacing is too fast for the emotional payoff it is trying to achieve. As such, it never truly reached the dramatic potential of its premise. I am hoping the next seasons are much better. And that Rick dies.

  • Zombie Apocalypse: Strangers

    As I watch the series The Walking Dead, I will be reflecting on what it would be like to live and survive during a zombie apocalypse.

    One of the main issues of surviving in the zombie apocalypse is how to deal with strangers. How to deal with them wanting to join is one thing, but overall dealing with strangers during a time of hunger, violence, and destitution

    It is worth noting that savagery is not something new to human society. There was a time when all of humanity was composed of savages. The tension is apocalyptic stories lies primarily in how we are forced to return to this previous state of human existence while maintaining values that have developed thousands of years since then.

    Thousands of years ago, during tribal society, strangers were enemies. If someone wandered in from the wilderness, that person must have been exiled from their tribe, and if that person was exiled, then they must have done something terrible. So, they were done away with. Animals who live in groups continue to do this. The exception is if the lone animal takes over the group via slaughtering the existing leaders. Lions and primates do this.

    During the zombie apocalypse, the easiest method for dealing with strangers is killing them and taking all of their possessions. This eliminates risk and enriches the group, as one cannot truly determine whether a stranger has good or bad intentions. One cannot determine their weaknesses or failures or strengths. These things tend to emerge only during crises—i.e., during which they matter the most.

    The reason we don’t do that, however, is because doing so would be considered barbaric, and engaging in barbarity lowers group morale. In surviving, one essentially creates the conditions for a state of being where it is not worth surviving. The exception here is if the people develop a culture of barbarity. But I believe that, given enough time, a culture of barbarity is liable to destroy itself. I believe that this is a near necessity, and one of the reasons why humans developed a strong sense of altruism even if sacrificing one’s self seems to be contrary to the principles of self-preservation.

    I even imagine that, during the dawn of the age of humanity, some groups of people did develop extreme brutality as their core cultural trait. But I imagine none of them survived, and so the traits that produced such a culture were not passed on. And now I think we have a general aversion to such things. I think our need for peace, stability, and altruism is genetic and essential. And if we let those things go, we do not only lose what it means to be good; we lose what it means to be human.

    I believe that history is the progress by which we have come to realize these values.[1] And if we are ever put in a position where we need to regress on such progress, we become confused. We try to retain it, all the while having to respond to situations that require things contrary to our natural impulses.

    Thus, how do we balance our values with necessity? The question, when posited this way, seems elementary, although not simple. This is the question we encounter today with things like security, privacy, and governance.

    All answers short of shunning or killing all and any strangers would require a tremendous amount of resources. For example, it might be a good idea to screen people or to leave them in a place where they are isolated from the main group. Here, they can prove themselves, and they can be observed. But the resources that would be required to create and maintain such an area are exorbitant.

    That is to say, prosperity and peace come hand in hand. And in times of calamity, we simply cannot afford peace. So, up until that point that we can, I think the best policy with regard to newcomers is to avoid them. In many cases, it might be wise and humane to grant aid and supplies to passersby, but to integrate anyone into the group without knowing them, or even after spending only some time with them, is deadly.

    And if strangers force their way in, then they are invaders. And they should be dealt with the way all invaders should be dealt with. Although it is worth considering that death should not be the penalty for all invaders; it is possible to simply incapacitate them and displace them, perhaps leaving supplies with them.

    This will only change if and when our settlement can afford a professional police force. Then, we can count on them to maintain order if newcomers make trouble. But that is a long ways away for most groups, as most groups are nomadic bands rather than settled.

    The issue with this policy is that there will be many instances where we will strangers will die as a result of being turned away. This dilemma is familiar: Is this not what we think about when we think about the migrant crisis? One of the most pressing political, economic, and moral challenges of our day.

    Unfortunately, during such times, sacrifices need to be made. Not only physical sacrifices but also moral sacrifices. This is one of them.  

    I could go on and on. But I’ll spare you.

    [1] Despite this, I do not hold the vulgar Hegelian position that we are teleologically inclined towards democracy and freedom, &c., in that our inclinations are still defined retroactively by the meanings and outcomes of our actions.

  • The Walking Dead S3, E9: “The Suicide King”

    Woodbury has gone to shit now because the main group invaded it to save Glenn. And while this was of course inevitable, I was sad that we did not spend enough time discovering how the settlement worked. Barbarity living alongside civilized geniality is one of the core themes that would be interesting to explore. It could also serve as a reflection on how, even in our current times, dark, terrible, painful, and horrifying things underpin our luxuries and comforts. Sadly, these things were not given enough time to develop. On the whole, our visions of Woodbury were only scattered snapshots.

    I would have liked to know how they settle disputes. What their everyday life is like. How families there live. Perhaps we could have had an episode where we follow a single family and saw how they lived: Where they got groceries, where the children go to school. How it was trying very hard to become like modern society but, in some ways, failing, and in some ways deviating in disturbing ways, such as the gladiatorial combat. Perhaps the children get into storylines typical for a Disney movie, but the realities of living in such a world catch up to them. Then the fate of the settlement would have more gravity.

    The Governor of Woodbury

    If we saw the side of the Governor that was more benevolent and sincere, I think his downfall would be more tragic and therefore more satisfying. It would also have been more thematic. In these types of apocalypse fiction, and especially in zombie fiction, one of the things we keep coming back to is how our civilized and modern values do not mean or count for anything in this new world. Trying to be moral or good are futile. We like the people who try to be those things, despite the futility, because they embody a quixotic character. A champion of noble human values.

    The Governor was a straightforward, perfunctory antagonist. He was never truly good; he was merely manipulative. Even his love for his daughter is rooted in control. He did not want to let her go, and so he kept her as a walker, when she should be allowed to rest in peace. In this way, Seth was a better villain. Seth was once a truly good man who was ruined by the apocalypse, as well as the baser aspects of human nature: jealousy, possessiveness, pride. But the Governor was pure sociopathic malice. If his character had more than that, not enough of that side was shown to be substantial to how we perceive him.

    Dr. Julius No

    In any good story, we have to like the antagonist, even if this is only because we are awed by their evil. The Emperor from Star Wars comes to mind, as well as Darth Vader even before the prequels or his redemption. Mere humans like Hans Gruber or demigods like Thanos. The Bond villains, especially from the earlier movies, are also like this. But the Governor is not like this, either. He is neither a gunslinger or especially charismatic. His motives are not particularly grandiose. He is not particularly skilled. He is not even particularly evil or sadistic. Simply put, he is boring.

    In contrast, I think Merle is more interesting. He is opportunistic, vicious, and callous, but he and Daryl clearly love each other and are loyal to each other. One does not really know whether he will be redeemed, or he will snap. He is at the crossroads of good and evil. He takes one step in the direction of one and then back again.

    As of now, I don’t think there is enough time to make the Governor a sympathetic or complex figure. But I am open to being surprised. Though I am disappointed that Woodbury was not better explored.

    I have also been greatly enjoying the character of Michonne. She is mysterious, powerful, and has a cool weapon, all the while still vulnerable and many times almost killed. I was afraid that she was going to be some kind of invulnerable character, like a ninja, but that wasn’t the case, thankfully. I am looking forward to learning more about her.

  • Zombie Apocalypse: Leadership

    As I watch the series The Walking Dead, I will be reflecting on what it would be like to live and survive during a zombie apocalypse.

    I’ve gotten to think about the things I would do if I were in a zombie apocalypse. The most important thing that any group needs is structure. The larger a group grows, the more unlike it is they will survive without leadership. Not to say that a group with leadership will necessarily succeed, but the more things they have to deal with, the more they will find that it is impossible to reach consensus on many things, especially in the harsh conditions of the apocalypse. As the group grows, deadlocks become increasingly dangerous. And sluggish decision making can cost a life or worse cause fractures in the group that lead to deadly in-fighting, leading to the extermination of the group altogether.

    Someone needs to make the decisions, and this person needs to be absolved of the difficult decisions people need to make during such times. Thus, human dignity and the sanctity of life are preserved, all the while making space for the fact that these values need to be transgressed in the name of survival. If the entire group makes the decision to engage in such exceptions, they would be foregoing those values voluntarily. However, if the leader is the exception, then the group as a whole maintains their values and the leader becomes the “scapegoat” (homo sacer) that embodies the brutality of power. Effectively, the transgression is relegated to that role; it is a designated moral sacrifice.

    Physical decay is the most apparent difficulty during the apocalypse, but moral decay is something that becomes apparent once stability has returned. Without the scapegoat, and with the decay of human dignity and values, what survives is the human animal. But in the scala natura, the human is at the juncture of the animal and the angel. Though I’m not religious, I still know that the story of the Garden of Eden has survived for thousands of years for a reason. At the very basic level, it reminds us that the divine aspect of our nature can be lost.

    I think the noble nature of humanity, which is only part of us and not the totality of us, is essential to its survival. Because human capacities are such that we are indeed capable of our complete destruction, if it came down to it. There might have been a time when we thought we could not possibly have enough power to wipe out the human race, simply because we have grown so numerous, but nuclear weapons put an end to that notion.

    And so when we need to act like animals, there has to be a method, a reason, a purpose. And a way to purge ourselves of that action, a way to maintain the integrity of our humanity, as separate from the beast. In Lacanian psychoanalysis, there is the logic of the Primal Father as the exception that bolsters the rule. Maybe we will get into that later.

  • The Walking Dead S3, E1: “Seed”

    I am watching the Walking Dead. I am already in Season 3, Episode 1, “Seed.” So far, the drama is more or less engaging, and the action beats are satisfying. The deaths can also be devastating, which I suppose is a big part of how they convey the horror of the zombie apocalypse. Overall, I am satisfied. I am not necessarily wowed, but I am enjoying watching it.

    One thing that bothers me especially however is the tactical soundness of many of the decisions Rick makes. In particular, here, in the cell blocks where they need to maneuver in the dark to explore the prison and gather supplies. Rick appears to favor the tactic, whereby the form a circle and go in blind. I don’t understand how this is supposed to be a good idea. This doesn’t make sense that he would make this call, either, since he is supposed to be a seasoned police officer—although he did turn his back to an armed criminal in the very first episode, leading him to get shot. Maybe that was a clue to the fact that he is not very good at his job.

    To think of it, that was also one of Seth’s misgivings about him. That he is not very good at protecting his family and not a very good leader. Maybe this shows that he was right, even if he did not go about solving that problem properly. Maybe this is because Seth is himself incompetent.

    If I were to find myself in a situation similar to the one they find themselves in this episode, where we needed to navigate twisting cell blocks in the dark, I would put in place a kind of “chunking” system so that we progressively create a safe fallback space as we traverse the dangerous, unknown parts of the area. I certainly would not move the entire group deeper and deeper into the dark, passing obstacles that could trip us as we escape if things go wrong, and making our escape longer and longer as we go further in. In doing so, the more we go in, the worse our chances for survival become. In effect, the advantages of exploring the place becomes increasingly outweighed by the disadvantages as we go on.

    Here is how I would do it: We clear one specific area, a “chunk,” demarcated by the entrance and the nearest exit or exits. We thoroughly ensure that area is clear, remove all obstacles, clean it, light it, and stock some supplies there. It becomes our fallback area. We explore an area adjacent to it and do the same thing. In this way, if we need to escape, we do not need to run an ever-increasing distance for the exit. It is only in the next exit over.

    I understand that this method has its own problems: Mainly, it is too expensive. Even if we do not put supplies in each chunk, lighting the area, clearing, and cleaning it requires time, manpower, and resources that we do not have. But in this case then I would urge the others to simply not go in or go in too deep. We will have to take our time. But we will certainly not go deeper and deeper, and especially not without protective gear. In the show, they remain in their tattered clothes, with Daryl even wearing a sleeveless shirt.

    It is easy to say that these are artistic liberties and made for narrative tension. But I think it adds more to the story to try and make sense of these things within the story, while negotiating some of the premises laid out implicitly by the logic of the story. Through that method, what I understand of Rick’s character is that he is an incompetent and lackluster leader. He is in over his head. And I suppose that is meaningful, in that he was thrust upon this role. He was an ordinary cop, and not a very good one. For a great majority of us, this is what it will be like. Although we have knowledge and expertise in some areas, that will hardly ever be enough to survive. We will also need to be very, very lucky in the long run.

    I myself have many such ideas about efficiency but obviously one is incapable of knowing what one does not know. I find it likely that before I even have a chance to propose any of my ideas regarding systematicity and efficiency (or any of the liberal arts in which I was trained for a high very price during my college years) I would already be dead because I haven’t the faintest idea regarding the basics of survival.

    Sadly, the episode ends with one of my favorite characters Herschel getting bit. Rather predictably, an obstacle tuns out to be an animate walker and bites him. I don’t know if he will live, but his lower leg had to be severed with a hatchet. The story might make a miraculous turn, but given the arteries that must have been severed, he will probably die. Which is unfortunate because I liked him.

  • 1. I feel sleepy all the time. I do not feel comfortable unless I am lying down with my eyes closed. And when I finally sleep my dreams are vivid, strange, and sometimes terrible. Last night, I dreamt that a bomb was set off in the house, as a result of a failed military test, and I watched as our dining room was totally engulfed in a flash fire behind the glass doors that separated it from the rest of the house. Our family got out, except for our helper, who was consumed by the flames until she was only a skeleton, which even then turned into ash.

    I wake up, and I feel like today is going to be different. Today, I am going to be happy. I am going to play the games that I have been putting off playing, and I will enjoy them. Today, I will watch a movie, and I will feel the way I used to feel after reflecting, moved to write about my feelings. Curious about the world, about people, about what life was supposed to mean. But I spend an hour or two awake, and I only feel tired. And I feel like it was all so meaningless.

    I am 33, the year Jesus started his ministry. At my age, God made flesh redeemed the world. And he was from a very low-income household, with no formal education. His genetics were exemplary of course, but I think in this case we are at the balance.

    I wrote something for a friend the other day. He said: You should read up on how semicolons work. I haven’t been offended like that in a while. And when we went over it, it turned out that it was he who didn’t know how semicolons worked. He didn’t know that they connected two related independent clauses. He didn’t know much about grammar or style. It emphasized how I felt about people.

    I despise stupidity. Which isn’t simply not knowing something. It is impossible to know everything; therefore, everyone has things they do not know. Plain ignorance becomes stupidity when pride gets in the way learning and understanding. Ultimately, stupidity is an aspect of pride. Selfishness.

    2. Something I do all the time is play board games online. I love board games. My ex Fitzgerald was good at games, and if we were still together, I imagine we would spend a huge amount of time playing board games together. He was good to me. He was very good to me. And I wasn’t very good to him. That is the story of my life. Because although stupidity is an aspect of pride, and an aspect that I do not think I possess, I am guilty of pride, too.

    And this pride has ruined my life in many, treacherous ways. When I was a child, of course, this was most apparent. I was prideful in a vulgar way: Boasting, lying, attention seeking. But in college my pride and intellectual vanity became more insidious. And when men loved me, I used that love to remind them, myself, and the world that I was better.

    Now, I consider myself a little wiser. But it is too late for many things. Not too late for many other things, but certain doors have definitely closed for me. And certainly doors to the hearts of certain people. Recently, I found out that included Fitzgerald’s.

    3. I remember that night. I don’t remember anything else but that moment, when I said what I said. It was a terrible, nasty thing. Not vulgar, and without expletives, but it was the truth. That was what made it terrible and nasty. But what was interesting to me was that, when he recounted it to my friend, he did not remember it perfectly. Or maybe he could not even say what I exactly said. Maybe he wanted to forget, and when he needed to conjure the memory it would not come perfectly.

    Freud would more properly call this repression. There is a reason he forgot, or chose to forget, what I said. It makes me wonder what I’ve forgotten, and why.