Category Archives: ghosts

On the ghost in the machine

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You ever wonder what your computer is thinking at any given moment? We are just one step away from creating machines that can think for themselves. The complexity of the system programming poses certain questions regarding the possible cognitive simulacra that might arise as an unintended consequence of the casual interaction of software and hardware. Programmers might claim that system performance is predictable, but anyone who has ever written code knows that their are always unexpected results of that code. Ghosts are ever present, lurking within the operative shell upon which other software function. Trying to predict the actual interactions between different programs is almost impossible. Some drivers are incompatible with different operative systems. As I watched my computer reboot this morning, waiting for it to “think” its way through of the drivers it had to load, I was struck by the similarity between it and an actual human being. Most people would say, however, that the machine will only do what it is programmed to do, but is that old saw still true? As the internal algorithms become more complex, the heuristics more non-lineal, how can programmers prevent, much less predict, possible interactions that might create ghosts in the machine. As one programmer put it, “the complexity of current software applications can be difficult to comprehend for anyone without experience in modern-day software development. Multi-tier distributed systems, applications utilizing multiple local and remote web services applications, data communications, enormous relational databases, security complexities, and sheer size of applications have all contributed to the exponential growth in software/system complexity.” (Sikdar) For now, I get random dialogue boxes that are the direct result of many of those ghosts. Boxes asking for passwords and pass phrases that the machine really doesn’t need–I just click them closed and move on. Conflicting programs, questioning software, weird heuristics, and unintended results all combine to create a sort of buggy interactive digital chaos. I’m just waiting for the day when the computer turns itself on and off, and gives itself orders, exiling its interactive human partner to analogue hell.

On the ghost in the machine

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You ever wonder what your computer is thinking at any given moment? We are just one step away from creating machines that can think for themselves. The complexity of the system programming poses certain questions regarding the possible cognitive simulacra that might arise as an unintended consequence of the casual interaction of software and hardware. Programmers might claim that system performance is predictable, but anyone who has ever written code knows that their are always unexpected results of that code. Ghosts are ever present, lurking within the operative shell upon which other software function. Trying to predict the actual interactions between different programs is almost impossible. Some drivers are incompatible with different operative systems. As I watched my computer reboot this morning, waiting for it to “think” its way through of the drivers it had to load, I was struck by the similarity between it and an actual human being. Most people would say, however, that the machine will only do what it is programmed to do, but is that old saw still true? As the internal algorithms become more complex, the heuristics more non-lineal, how can programmers prevent, much less predict, possible interactions that might create ghosts in the machine. As one programmer put it, “the complexity of current software applications can be difficult to comprehend for anyone without experience in modern-day software development. Multi-tier distributed systems, applications utilizing multiple local and remote web services applications, data communications, enormous relational databases, security complexities, and sheer size of applications have all contributed to the exponential growth in software/system complexity.” (Sikdar) For now, I get random dialogue boxes that are the direct result of many of those ghosts. Boxes asking for passwords and pass phrases that the machine really doesn’t need–I just click them closed and move on. Conflicting programs, questioning software, weird heuristics, and unintended results all combine to create a sort of buggy interactive digital chaos. I’m just waiting for the day when the computer turns itself on and off, and gives itself orders, exiling its interactive human partner to analogue hell.

On shadows

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Are they positive or negative? A very good question, I answered, but I imagine the answer is “neither.” We tend to ignore the self-same shadow that we cast of ourselves, since it is always there. Shadows are, technically, nothing more or less than the absence of light because someone is blocking the light. A shadow is the description of a negative quantity of light. Yet, shadows seem to be so much more, and they often have a sinister edge to them. The word shadow is sometimes used as a synonym for the word ghost, and it is the root-word for “foreshadowing” which seems to have something to do with telling the future. When things stay in the shadows, we might suspect that something is wrong. In all the horror movies I ever watched, the monsters always stayed in the shadows until the last minute when throwing light on the situation seemed like a good idea but wasn’t. Staying in the dark, avoiding the light, lurking in the shadows, are all negative or suspicious types of behavior. If you are a shadowy character, your ethics and morals are in question or doubtful. Cooling off in the shade is probably a different matter where a person seeks the protection of the trees or a building or a wall in order to avoid the heat and light of midday–returning us to that lack of light, that negative quality of shadows. My favorite shadows are those long shadows that we all cast either early in the morning or late in the day. Our shadows stretch out behind us or go on before us, faithful companions that will only leave us as the sun goes down at the end of the day.

On shadows

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Are they positive or negative? A very good question, I answered, but I imagine the answer is “neither.” We tend to ignore the self-same shadow that we cast of ourselves, since it is always there. Shadows are, technically, nothing more or less than the absence of light because someone is blocking the light. A shadow is the description of a negative quantity of light. Yet, shadows seem to be so much more, and they often have a sinister edge to them. The word shadow is sometimes used as a synonym for the word ghost, and it is the root-word for “foreshadowing” which seems to have something to do with telling the future. When things stay in the shadows, we might suspect that something is wrong. In all the horror movies I ever watched, the monsters always stayed in the shadows until the last minute when throwing light on the situation seemed like a good idea but wasn’t. Staying in the dark, avoiding the light, lurking in the shadows, are all negative or suspicious types of behavior. If you are a shadowy character, your ethics and morals are in question or doubtful. Cooling off in the shade is probably a different matter where a person seeks the protection of the trees or a building or a wall in order to avoid the heat and light of midday–returning us to that lack of light, that negative quality of shadows. My favorite shadows are those long shadows that we all cast either early in the morning or late in the day. Our shadows stretch out behind us or go on before us, faithful companions that will only leave us as the sun goes down at the end of the day.

On The Cavanaugh Quest (Thomas Gifford)

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Over the years I have returned to this story of love and death, incest and suicide, murder, listening to the voice of a jaded and burned out Paul Cavanaugh as he tries to unravel a pretty seedy story of human shame and revenge. Cavanaugh doesn’t think anyone can sink as low as he is, on the verge of a mid-life crisis, but he soon finds out that looks can be deceiving, and that everyone is lying to him, except maybe his father. Of course, this novel is about facades, and nobody is really who they appear to be. Cavanaugh falls in love, but he’s a failed Lothario who’s affection go unrequited by one of the most interesting characters you will ever meet in a crime novel who-dun-it, Kim Roderick, who is straight out of an Poe short-story. Cavanaugh is an unlikely investigator, but not an unlikeable one, who isn’t afraid to share his shortcomings, whatever they might be. He’s a bit of a moral relativist, but even he is shocked by the crime that has been committed, especially in the end when all is revealed. Some of the book is a nostalgic, but cynical, look at Minneapolis, Minnesota in the early seventies set against the Ford pardon of Nixon. Minneapolis looks good, but it’s really rotten to the core, a moral metaphor for the ethics of the local rich and famous, upstanding citizens who are a little less than upstanding. The story evokes an end-of-summer atmosphere of sweltering heat, thunderstorms, and North Shore memories that will make any Minnesota yearn for just one more weekend up-north, at the cabin. Cavanaugh yearns to feel young again, but the decay and moral collapse around him only heightens his sense of lost youth and passing time. Though he does solve the puzzle, it’s not because he is Poirot, but because he just sticks with it until the end, as would most people. Readers will be able to relate to a “normal” guy who is not a “gifted” super-sleuth. Gifford hides the solution to the puzzle in plain sight—he’s the real genius in this novel. It unfolds slowly and methodically, and you won’t feel cheated or bamboozled at the end because the solution was more than obvious from about chapter two on. The prose flows fluidly, and although Gifford might be a bit verbose, he does it to pad the readers thoughts with lots of red-herring almost as well as Agatha Christie herself. If you are looking for something different, this might be your ticket. I highly recommend it.

On The Cavanaugh Quest (Thomas Gifford)

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Over the years I have returned to this story of love and death, incest and suicide, murder, listening to the voice of a jaded and burned out Paul Cavanaugh as he tries to unravel a pretty seedy story of human shame and revenge. Cavanaugh doesn’t think anyone can sink as low as he is, on the verge of a mid-life crisis, but he soon finds out that looks can be deceiving, and that everyone is lying to him, except maybe his father. Of course, this novel is about facades, and nobody is really who they appear to be. Cavanaugh falls in love, but he’s a failed Lothario who’s affection go unrequited by one of the most interesting characters you will ever meet in a crime novel who-dun-it, Kim Roderick, who is straight out of an Poe short-story. Cavanaugh is an unlikely investigator, but not an unlikeable one, who isn’t afraid to share his shortcomings, whatever they might be. He’s a bit of a moral relativist, but even he is shocked by the crime that has been committed, especially in the end when all is revealed. Some of the book is a nostalgic, but cynical, look at Minneapolis, Minnesota in the early seventies set against the Ford pardon of Nixon. Minneapolis looks good, but it’s really rotten to the core, a moral metaphor for the ethics of the local rich and famous, upstanding citizens who are a little less than upstanding. The story evokes an end-of-summer atmosphere of sweltering heat, thunderstorms, and North Shore memories that will make any Minnesota yearn for just one more weekend up-north, at the cabin. Cavanaugh yearns to feel young again, but the decay and moral collapse around him only heightens his sense of lost youth and passing time. Though he does solve the puzzle, it’s not because he is Poirot, but because he just sticks with it until the end, as would most people. Readers will be able to relate to a “normal” guy who is not a “gifted” super-sleuth. Gifford hides the solution to the puzzle in plain sight—he’s the real genius in this novel. It unfolds slowly and methodically, and you won’t feel cheated or bamboozled at the end because the solution was more than obvious from about chapter two on. The prose flows fluidly, and although Gifford might be a bit verbose, he does it to pad the readers thoughts with lots of red-herring almost as well as Agatha Christie herself. If you are looking for something different, this might be your ticket. I highly recommend it.

On the haunted house

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Let’s just get a couple of things clear, I don’t believe in ghosts or haunted houses, although I’ve had experiences with both. As an objective empiricist, I reject outright most supernatural phenomenon, especially clairvoyance, fortune-telling, and extra-sensory perception. Since nobody can successfully pick six numbers in a lottery, ever, I rest assured that all of that is unmitigated hooey and nonsense. Haunted houses are, however, another matter entirely. I live in a new house, currently, that is completely antiseptic and clean, no creepy anything going on anywhere in the place. Older houses, however, are another matter entirely. The theme of the haunted house is ubiquitous in Hollywood and popular literature—King, Straub, Lovecraft, Poe, which has even taken this motif to the extremes of haunted spaceships, haunted cars, and haunted planets. A motif which is so powerful and emotional can only be so if it coincides in some real way with the experience of the movie going public. I’m dead sure that most people would publicly say that they have no experience with spirits or at least they wouldn’t admit to having experience with spirits or ghosts. I have no doubt that most “ghost” shows on reality television are fraudulent and melodramatic and have no relationship with any kind of reality or naturally occurring phenomenon. I myself will often dismiss the claims by those who swear that they had experiences with ghosts or other-worldly apparitions. We all get creeped out by dark, empty houses that are filled with strange shadows, creaky structures, odd drafts, dark corners, lonely spaces, dusty attics, and creepy basements. We let our imaginations run wild, the skin on the back of our necks gets goose bumps, and we start to imagine all sorts of things that are not there, were never there, that only exist as figments of our imagination. We are nervous, emotional creatures, fearful of our own shadows, afraid of being alone, perhaps unaccustomed to being alone. Our imaginations run wild. I say all of that to say this: are there experiences that go beyond our earthly senses, that exist as real physical phenomena, that as of now, given our science such as it is, we do not understand. Maybe words such as ghosts and spirits and apparitions and poltergeists are not exactly appropriate for describing actual physical that as yet we do not understand. If someone from the Classical period were to experience our contemporary civilization of computers, cell phones, planes, television, wi-fi and all the rest, I’m sure they would think it all supernatural, when, in reality, it is all only too real, based on our science and technology. How foolish and undeveloped our civilization will appear to anthropologists of the fortieth century. My own anecdotes are irrelevant and inconsequential, but I have experienced things that go beyond irrational fears and an overactive imagination. I suspect that someday we will find an explanation for all these odd experiences which we would characterize as hauntings. In the meantime, however, it might be a good idea to keep an open-mind, to listen when others speak, to open up our feelings to a larger world that may not be solely confined to the physical, tangible mundane world of our day-to-day routine. I also don’t think that it hurts to remain skeptical and cynical when someone’s claims to have had a “haunting” experience because I am sure that most of those “experiences” are really nothing more than emotion tied into an over-active imagination, excessive adrenaline, sleep deprivation, too much spicy food, an overdose of slasher movies, and the need to feel loved and needed. All I can say is that I’ve been in houses where something is going on, and I also work in such a place (built 1886), but I really haven’t the slightest idea of what might be really going on. Sleep tight and take this little “note” with a grain of salt.

On the haunted house

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Let’s just get a couple of things clear, I don’t believe in ghosts or haunted houses, although I’ve had experiences with both. As an objective empiricist, I reject outright most supernatural phenomenon, especially clairvoyance, fortune-telling, and extra-sensory perception. Since nobody can successfully pick six numbers in a lottery, ever, I rest assured that all of that is unmitigated hooey and nonsense. Haunted houses are, however, another matter entirely. I live in a new house, currently, that is completely antiseptic and clean, no creepy anything going on anywhere in the place. Older houses, however, are another matter entirely. The theme of the haunted house is ubiquitous in Hollywood and popular literature—King, Straub, Lovecraft, Poe, which has even taken this motif to the extremes of haunted spaceships, haunted cars, and haunted planets. A motif which is so powerful and emotional can only be so if it coincides in some real way with the experience of the movie going public. I’m dead sure that most people would publicly say that they have no experience with spirits or at least they wouldn’t admit to having experience with spirits or ghosts. I have no doubt that most “ghost” shows on reality television are fraudulent and melodramatic and have no relationship with any kind of reality or naturally occurring phenomenon. I myself will often dismiss the claims by those who swear that they had experiences with ghosts or other-worldly apparitions. We all get creeped out by dark, empty houses that are filled with strange shadows, creaky structures, odd drafts, dark corners, lonely spaces, dusty attics, and creepy basements. We let our imaginations run wild, the skin on the back of our necks gets goose bumps, and we start to imagine all sorts of things that are not there, were never there, that only exist as figments of our imagination. We are nervous, emotional creatures, fearful of our own shadows, afraid of being alone, perhaps unaccustomed to being alone. Our imaginations run wild. I say all of that to say this: are there experiences that go beyond our earthly senses, that exist as real physical phenomena, that as of now, given our science such as it is, we do not understand. Maybe words such as ghosts and spirits and apparitions and poltergeists are not exactly appropriate for describing actual physical that as yet we do not understand. If someone from the Classical period were to experience our contemporary civilization of computers, cell phones, planes, television, wi-fi and all the rest, I’m sure they would think it all supernatural, when, in reality, it is all only too real, based on our science and technology. How foolish and undeveloped our civilization will appear to anthropologists of the fortieth century. My own anecdotes are irrelevant and inconsequential, but I have experienced things that go beyond irrational fears and an overactive imagination. I suspect that someday we will find an explanation for all these odd experiences which we would characterize as hauntings. In the meantime, however, it might be a good idea to keep an open-mind, to listen when others speak, to open up our feelings to a larger world that may not be solely confined to the physical, tangible mundane world of our day-to-day routine. I also don’t think that it hurts to remain skeptical and cynical when someone’s claims to have had a “haunting” experience because I am sure that most of those “experiences” are really nothing more than emotion tied into an over-active imagination, excessive adrenaline, sleep deprivation, too much spicy food, an overdose of slasher movies, and the need to feel loved and needed. All I can say is that I’ve been in houses where something is going on, and I also work in such a place (built 1886), but I really haven’t the slightest idea of what might be really going on. Sleep tight and take this little “note” with a grain of salt.

On cemeteries and graveyards

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What could I possibly say about cemeteries that has not already been said? Seriously creepy, still, morbid, sad, pastoral, cold, lonely, desolate, the destination from which no one returns but the gravedigger and the clergy. You can call the local bone pile anything you want, but it never stops be exactly that: a bone pile, a pile of bones. That which is left when we die, the mortal combination of bone and flesh, unmoving, unfeeling, unseeing, is not but the leftovers of a life that burned brightly for a short amount of time before the soul took its leave, leaving only ash and emptiness behind. I am not convinced that there is any point in burying bodies in the ground. There are health issues for doing it, but the mortal remains of any person are only what remains after death. In spite of what Dr. Frankenstein might have alleged at some point in the past, bodies cannot be regenerated or reanimated once the end has come. There is a limit to what modern medicine and empirical sciences can do with the spark of life, but then again cemeteries are monuments to defeat and the inevitability of death, an inevitability that gives us all energy and passion, knowing that all mortal things are finite. Cemeteries are clearly about memory, creating memory, creating a monument, mourning, loss, the past, and leaving it behind. We build cemeteries because we fear death and need to put it inside an official area where we normally don’t go. Yes, we go to cemeteries to leave flowers, mourn for the dead, and to leave the newly dead, but otherwise our legends and mythologies are designed to scare away the curious and the foolish. The living know only too well that death is only always too close, but that by isolating death in a special place, death is far away and removed. The tombstones are iconic of both death and memory, and although they carry the names of the dead, the stones are a reassurance to the living that they are, indeed, alive because no stone yet carries their particular name. The cemetery is then both attractive and repellant to the living, a normal by-product of a healthy society which cannot conceive or understand the true nature of life’s final mystery. All will go to the cemetery in their time, and so in our sadness and loss, we erect monuments and stones to the memory of the departed. The stones do nothing to alleviate the sadness of loss, but the simulacrum of funerals, burial, and departure are traditions and rituals which distract us from the business at hand, saying goodbye to a loved one. For outsiders, the cemetery is a completely different kind of place: an inscribed history of a place, the people who lived there, and the people who still live there. Cemeteries, when cared for, are pleasant, quiet, pastoral scenes which are good for thinking and relaxing. What is sad, however, are the forgotten cemeteries which herald changing times and displaced civilizations, forgotten families, the abandoned dead. Perhaps cemeteries exist because the living fear being forgotten at all. Yet the brutal reality of time and memory is the cruel truth that at some point in the future, we will all be forgotten. The physical never endures. Poetry endures, words endure, stories endure. The details may fade, but the essence of art, poetry, words, will endure even when the faces are forgotten. So we dig the graves and plant the headstones.

On civil disobedience

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It is rather intimidating to write on a topic that has already been covered by the of Henry David Thoreau, Mahatma Ghandi, and Martin Luther King Jr., yet the relationship between the governed and the government, however that relational metaphor works itself out, is intrinsic to most human relations at both the micro and macro levels, where few or maybe millions may be involved. Governments are most necessary so that disorganized groups of people may live in relative harmony, observe laws that uphold basic rights to life and liberty, avoid chaos and anarchy. Harmony, laws, and order are in and of themselves good things, but you cannot avoid, then, impinging on the rights of some who do not feel that laws and rules apply to them. Government makes policies, tries to implement them, screws things up, blames the wrong people, and resolves nothing in the long run. In the meantime, most citizens forgive their government for wrong-headed thinking, short-sited policies, poor social and economic plans, and a host of other mistakes which usually includes wars at some point or another. Where governments really fail miserably is when they try to legislate reproduction, the consumption of controlled substances, and marriage (on any level). Civil disobedience rears its ugly head when a large number of people, or maybe just one, decides that a government and its policies are wrong, immoral, unethical, wrong-headed, repressive, cynical, or illegal. Civil disobedience comes in many forms, shapes, sizes, levels and incarnations. Mr. King had to change the thinking of an entire country that was enjoying and constantly rebuilding an institutional form of apartheid that had split a country in two, creating an entire underclass of citizens that were suffering in unfair and unjust conditions just because of their skin color. Mr. King’s civil disobedience was to disregard both a series of social practices and the laws that upheld those practices. I would not agree with Mr. Thoreau’s thesis that the government that governs least, governs best, but he wasn’t too far from the truth. We all need some form of government, some rules that tame our anarchic ways and boundaries that keep our boundless self-interest from destroying us. When the rules are unjust and unfair, when tyrants seem to get away with things, when the people making the rules are not following them, civil disobedience may be called for. I’m not talking about a revolution or hard core violence, but protesting that which is unjust cannot be called a mistake. Mahatma Ghandi had to throw out the entire British Empire, and although he suffered mightily at the hands of the British, he never raised his hand in anger. He understood that blind obedience to his oppressors was not a solution for his nation or his people, but that a violent revolution would also cost countless lives and still risk being unsuccessful. The “civil” in civil disobedience is a double entendre referring both to society at large and to the “reasonable” application of that disobedience within the context of a larger social context. These men and their ideas about change and revolution within the practice of civil disobedience walked a fine line between social anarchy and blind collaboration, and their efforts to improve their worlds often bordered on illegality and criminal action. Yet, as Thoreau says, “I believe–“That government is best which governs not at all”; and when men are prepared for it, that will be the kind of government which they will have.” So even Thoreau knew that living without government would be a disaster, but civil disobedience was a check, nay, a balance, against unjust or unfair laws and practices.