WTF happens at the end of 2001’s…

…1965 Original Script — Revised Draft? ; )
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NARRATOR (con’t)

But despite their God-like powers,
they still watched over the
experiments their ancestors
had started so many generations
ago.

The companion of Saturn knew
nothing of this, as it orbited
in its no man’s land between Mimas
and the outer edge of rings.

It had only to remember and wait,
and to look forever Sunward with
its strange senses.

For many weeks, it had watched
the approaching ship. Its long-
dead makers had prepared it for
many things and this was one of
them. And it recognised what
was climbing starward from the
Sun.

If it had been alive, it would have
felt excitement, but such an
emotion was irrelevant to its
great powers.

Even if the ship had passed it by,
it would not have known the
slightest trace of disappointment.

It had waited four million years;
it was prepared to wait for
eternity.

Presently, it felt the gentle touch
of radiations, trying to probe its
secrets.

Now, the ship was in orbit and it
began to speak, with prime
numbers from one to eleven,
over and over again.

Soon, these gave way to more
complex signals at many frequen-
cies, ultra-violet, infra-red,
X-rays.

The machine made no reply. It
had nothing to say.

Then it saw the first robot
probe, which descended and
hovered above the chasm.
Then, it dropped into darkness.

The great machine knew that this
tiny scout was reporting back to
its parent; but it was too simple,
too primative a device to detect
the forces that were gathering
round it now.

Then the pod came, carrying
life. The great machine searched
its memories.

The logic circuits made their
decision when the pod had fallen
beyond the last faint glow of the
reflected Saturnian light.

In a moment of time, too short to
be measured, space turned and
twisted upon itself.

Full script here.

That last sentence is where I’m confused.  As you may know, I love 2001 and the title was clearly clickbait.  Prior the passage above, the opening passage of evolution-through-violence is expanded upon, but largely follows the same story-arch with one very important exception: the monolith. in this case, it’s a cube, and at one point, randomly, it displays an image from the future of the hunters sleeping peacefully, and overweight, in a cave having eaten yet another incredible meal. there is focus on the spears and weaponry. then the cube ends.

everyone hasn’t developed (long-term) memory yet, so no one even remembers it happened.  but they dream about it, and fast-forward a year, and “Moonwatcher” (Moon, being key here), is the leader of a pack of early-humans that basically control everything. and yeah, in the film they are more apelike but in the script everything feels very human, even if it is said they are apelike.the rest of the movie is moreorless the same, until the ending.

the movie truly has a better flow, but there is some nice elaboration into just about everyone and everything. but the ending is basically different in that after bowman recovers order to the ship, we immediately cut to a normal-ship with a mission control transmission. we are now in a room with bowman and his superior, who shares with him a videotape, along with the knowledge of the mission; that hal was programmed, for the mission, to disobey his actual programming (which caused hal to both develop and suffer from neurotic fits, including the fear of being disconnected for the first time in his 10 year service history).

the ending of the script is a monologue that is overlain with the real-time passage of the discovery ship flying over to saturn, where another monolith is floating amongst the rings, a mile long, and as the ship approaches, the monologue gets crazy crazy deep. in a nutshell some form of not-human intelligent life existed millions of years ago and studied the universe as much as they could. they passed over all the gas planets, mars and made base camp on the moon. they studied and observed for a long time, then decided to tweak some evolutionary traits in all of the species so that the chance of a “MIND” would be created. i.e. they were coming along to help out as many species as possible evolve as fast as possible.

the mission, as explained by the videotape, was based around the discovery of life. it’s discovered that the buried monolith was sunlight-activated, and then the transmission eventually ends with a replay of bowman discovering the monolith (this time rectangular) on the moon, and it emitting shrieking noises. these noises are detectable on radar, by several earth-satellites in space, where it’s revealed they are directed to saturn.

as revealed by the opening monologue, the narrative is somewhat pessimistic / ‘scientific’, because as we saw, the early-humans were not experimented on. they were shown a vision of themselves in the future. this is important because it suggests that there might be some sort of loop, in which kubrick suggests we show ourselves our own future, a la interstellar. the only reason i say this is because the last line in the script is about time twisting and turning upon itself, just as the ship nears the monolith on saturn.

however, the monologue describes a very literal evolution of a not-human into something very intelligent, that invents a machine that ends up becoming more intelligent. after thousands of years of blissed-out machine-human harmony, humans accept the fact that they’ve been replaced, and feel good about their creation. then the machines end up doing the same thing, as they, themselves, realize a way to store information in quantum space; to float through anything at any level of scale, or speed off in any directly along particles of light. the deeper side of that, is that kubrick is literally proposing that the world around us could be filled with a very literal intelligence that we perceive to be “spiritual”.

regardless, this is explained, and then the monologue focuses back on the monolith on saturn, and how even though those early machines that existed during machine-only times (but not transcendental-only times), were only so involved. so when they were at earth and saturn, their technology was incredibly advanced, but not anywhere near the level to which they had advanced. but they still liked to watch over their forefather’s creations/experiments, out of genuine scientific pursuit.

so at the very end we have the ship approaching the somewhat-outdated monolith, floating amongst saturn’s rings. as it gets near, it blasts our radio waves in all forms to no affect. then there is a robotic probe sent down to investigate, which fails. it is only when the pod containing the mind and life of human (bowman), in which the monolith actually responds. think about this: earlier, the monolith only responded to sunlight (which was why it had been buried). in a similar sense, it needs some sort of power to active its million-year-dormancy — it’s bowman’s presence of mind that does the trick. the machine of the monolithic rectangle scans bowman’s memory.

or so it seems, because then bowman’s like ‘”im out”, and drives off once there is nothing else left to do, because it seems like the discovery couldn’t discover anything — and gave up (via:

The logic circuits made their
decision when the pod had fallen
beyond the last faint glow of the
reflected Saturnian light.)

So the pod, not the ship, but the pod is disappearing off… far off into the distance. then, and only then, has the somewhat-outdated monolith made its decision. and what is that decision??  what is the mystery behind the void?

In a moment of time, too short to
be measured, space turned and
twisted upon itself.

it could just be an ending statement, as if to say the entire events of the story unfold in such an infinitesimal space of time, compared to the script (and movie’s) theme of large passages of time and small, isolated moments of influence that spark evolution. it might just be saying that these events caused a self-awareness and stir amongst the stars, even if only briefly.

but what do you think happens at the end?

the hope in me, deep down, is that it has something to do with time loops and maybe even towards “you going back in time to help your own future” [a la interstellar], in which in this case, the monolith activates some sort of emergency protocol in which sets in motion the events of the beginning.

but i followed everything that happened in this script. it put things that weren’t so obvious into a proper context. the only time i felt a little confused was during the ending — an ending which obviously wasn’t used — but im still curious exactly what happened.

normally im very precise on my blog about my writing, but im letting go a bit for this one and just opening it up to y’all. this is my first and only draft — im sure there are errors — but i really wanna know what you think about this, because it’s all ive been thinking about since i read it.

Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club — Revisited & Reimagined

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The quality of this new 2017 remastering moved me to tears: dancing; thinking; reflecting; astral projecting.  From the album’s opening to the end of “Getting Better” is intensive feel-good optimism proceeded by intensive introspection (which ultimately climaxes back into dancing anyways (“Within You Without You”).   At one point we astral project into the minds of our parents (“She’s Leaving Home”) only to hover over a future image of ourselves, wondering if we’ll always be taken care of (“When I’m Sixty-Four”).

This stereo remaster takes what was already extremely lucid to a downright four-dimensional place.  Any fan of the mono originals of each album, such as myself, would be proud to stand beside this hyper-actualized vision that only The Beatles could bring to life.  It just feels like hearing their original ideas, as they were inside-their-heads (without any limitations of 1960’s technology).

A large portion of how the band feels about being The Beatles is directly addressed in the finale — “A Day In The Life”. John Lennon reveals that the narrative is not being told based upon first-hand experience — he saw a photograph of a dead man at a traffic light in a stopped car, just as the light had turned green (“He didn’t notice that the lights had changed”).   Lennon tells the narrative in such a way that it sounds as if he is living a day in the life of that photograph (only to reveal at the end, that he’s just talking about a photograph).

This is proceeded by another verse where he simply describes wanting to see a film that’s gotten bad reviews (‘the crowds of people turned away’) since he had “read the book”.   It’s interesting that on both verses, Lennon’s narrative is based around escapism into another’s perspective — whether the photograph or a film.  This escapism is where I feel Sgt. Pepper’s resonates with today’s culture.

“A Day In The Life” blasts off once again into an instrumental crescendo — this time in 2017-remastered-glory, at full volume it’s almost as intense as a DMT trip.  Paul McCartney snaps us back with a very literal, day-in-the-life: He wakes up; gets ready; has a smoke and spaces out a bit.  Both narratives suggest that there is nothing all that special about the men behind the Beatles moniker — what’s clearly important to both us and them is making something special for to listen to.

The Beatles turn dense sound and vibes into easy-going and carefree sing-alongs. This is in-part due to lyrics like those described above in “A Day In The Life”, but the sentiment is found all throughout the album — there’s a resilient levity which never subsides.  They sometimes sing light because the music is heavy — as is the life it was drawn from.

The album title references those who, prior to listening, felt alone in some capacity.  Maybe you just needed levity in the background; to break the tension; to kickstart ambition (petty and great). Are you feeling alone? Join the club. Because The Lonely Hearts Club has its own band that performs a world-famous, all-inclusive show — and the Beatles directed the soundtrack.  The new remastering feels like it’s happening for the very first time.

Stereo Version available here.

Scorsese’s Inferno

ImageI’ve been on a scary movie binge, but this is one of the most terrifying films I’ve seen. There are clues throughout the film the same way there are deaths throughout a horror movie.  As things progress, we’re made aware who is really innocent.  In retrospect, how obvious everything is; how plainly it’s presented — it will chill you to the core.

The socialite society is a metaphor for how any power system functions.  There are leaders; there are black sheep; there are those whom are respected without being admired — and every single person believes themselves to be on their own path, isolated from the rest of the system.  Yet, it’s so obvious where everyone fits and how easily everyone can be placed into a niche.

Newland feels guilt for the entire film and the viewer is led to believe he’s malicious, when in-fact, his desire is the most innocent of all.  May is revealed to be the devil incarnate: never missing the bullseye; maliciously gossiping of others; being distant with her husband; passive-aggressively telling Newland (moreorless), “Oh, do say hi to Ellen for me.”  These are all signs placed within the film, advising both Newland and the viewer just what’s what.

There’s nothing hidden in this world more than how others perceive you, and it’s so easy to manipulate that which is oblivious.  May represents evil as a force; their society, the hellish glamor they are all bound to.  The “scarlet” room is red for a reason; the manors are isolated fortresses; it always seems to be winter — Newland has no escape.  The wedlock scene plays like Newland becoming aware he’s gravely ill: the room spins as all potential life rushes by; he is merely swept along.

The most violent Scorsese film, indeed.

Lyrical Analysis: “Paranoid Android” by Radiohead

The lyrics can be found here.  You can listen to the song below:

“Paranoid Android”, by Radiohead, is a rather straight-forward song about isolation.  However, because the song uses abstract imagery and manages to tell two, overlapping narratives with only one set of lyrics, the song is ripe for lyrical analysis.  Literally, this is a classic tale of insanity.  Figuratively, and the meaning you’re more likely to connect with, “Android” is a requiem for the outcast; for the leftfield perspective.

The notion of wanting to get some rest in a noisy environment is something we all can relate with, but the outcast of “Paranoid Android” is pleading; begging to fall asleep, because his head is filled with “unborn chicken voices”. This can seem confusing until the line is read literally – imagine that there are actually chickens inside this man’s head.  “Unborn,” in this context, is a clever way of saying “non-existent”; not actually real.  He simply hears noises in his head, and the syncopated call of a chicken is a perfect image to express the chaos of auditory hallucination.

In another sense, these voices in his head are not in his head at all, but actually the sounds of the world around him (with which he feels such disconnect).  The outcast cannot view society as a screaming success because his senses are overwhelmed with the literal screaming of the oppressed; the crack of the metaphoric whip, keeping everyone at work (“the crackle of pigskin”); overwhelming gluttony (“the crackle of pigskin” i.e. bacon); the panic of the chased; the vomit from those who witness it all and of course, those too busy making money to care (“the yuppies networking”).  The outcast begs it all to stop, because he’s simply trying to get some rest.

As if a nagging reminder to his insanity and his disconnect, the promise of a peaceful sleep is lost; replaced by literal paranoia (“What’s that?”).  Already so broken-down, the only way this outcast can cope is to escape to a dreamlike state; to imagine an alternate reality where he is in command, persecuting everyone who has ever wronged him (“When I am King, you will be first against the wall — where your opinion is of no consequence at all”).

Unfortunately, due to what’s been bubbling under the surface, what should be a pleasant daydream turns into a manic episode.  Rather playful, optimistic longing is replaced with aggressive force.  As if he’s shaking the collar of society itself, he screams, “You don’t remember!  You don’t remember my name!”  Now, he’s in control and is using his power to get back at his enemies – “Off with his head now; off with his head!!”

Unfortunately, the mania subsides and is replaced with a calming, static depression.  He’s back to the real world and his fantasy is just that – a fantasy.  The difference is, there’s no going back.  Perhaps in the intensity of his manic episode, he has broken a law or two, for now passersby are scorning and ridiculing him for his insanity.  “Off with his head now!!” is both a mantra yelled at society and the actual response of society to the outcast’s madness.

A crowd draws and he’s told, “That’s it now — you’re leaving,” but he refuses to give-in; instead fighting back and running away (“the dust and the screaming”). The police presumably catch him, but not before he is beaten (“the crackle of pigskin”), shrieking in terror as the walls of his world cave-in (“the screaming”).  All the while, this is taking place in public, with businessmen and women rushing past, far too busy making phone calls to stop and observe (“yuppies networking”).

It is here where Yorke sings with a cruel jest, “God loves his children.”  It is here where the literal story of a man going crazy and the casual observations of the modern cynic merge.  In the literal narrative, this line is a delusional self-assurance, muttered by the outcast as he’s hauled away.   In the figurative narrative, the cynical observer is mocking the idea of “God” with a bitter sarcasm: “God loves his children,” as if to say, why would anyone Godly waste their attention on this hellish world?  Regardless atheistic implications, this line is important because it shows how both the outcast and the observer have lost all hope.

In the chaos of literal arrest (or the figurative personal disconnect felt towards society), the outcast gives in.  The reason we know the outcast is too tired to fight is because the song starts off with “I’m trying to get some rest,” as if to imply should our protagonist not recover soon, there will be no will to continue.  With no hope in sight, the outcast proclaims, “let it all rain down on me — let it pour from a great height, far up in the sky.”  As if lithium had entered, intravenously, into his bloodstream, our lonesome friend finds peace (even if in defeat).

As if to justify the abstract nature of this song, we hear a robotic voice chanting, “I may be paranoid, but I’m not an android.” In other words, the outcast might have been seen as eccentric; perhaps even paranoid for no reason, but at least he was feeling something.  The beauty of this song is that once you understand the general narrative, all the abstract imagery can be applied to a multitude of concepts, all seen from the observer / the outcast’d perspective.  This outcast is holding up a mirror to our world, but before he can even ask if we’re okay with the resultant image, he loses his mind.

“Andrew the Rapper”

When I was 16 I recorded a ‘rap album’ with 11 tracks, a 15 dollar microphone and a program I still use today — Audacity.  I made it mainly because I wanted to liven up the tedious routine of school and I rapped about very tame things (the class botany project; in-jokes with friends recorded for friends and Dance Dance Revolution, sampling South Park’s then-popular episode).  I even tried to make a “real” song, of which I’ll spare you the details.

Among friends, from then on, I was of-course known by my rap alias, “Hateorade”, not necessarily by choice, but always in good-spirit.  The 14-minute album-in-question, “Hate or Die”, did manage to get played in said science class and yes, when the first track, “With a Beat” came on, a few people started dancing (and laughing).

The memory of my friends’ and classmates’ reaction, in addition to the ‘recording process’ itself (i.e. “Name me some stuff and I’ll make a rap about it,” leading to the classic, “Pancaked”) are clearly why I made the project.  The intentions were so pure and the results were so horrible, but everyone just kept going with it because it was honestly pretty funny – this was in 2006.

This is my ultimate take-away from making music: what you record in the present turns into something which helps understand who you were in the past (and thus, who you are today).  I think when I revisited this, years later, this realization refueled my desire to record music.

Fast-forward to the end of 2010, throughout 2011 and into early 2012 and I began to reimagine my favorite moments in music as platforms on which my perspective could stand – this was done by looping portions of songs, then rapping over these loops.  Those are heady statements, too, because the practical result was some uber-lo-fi, uber-quiet raps over weird-ass samples; amassing maybe a collective 1,000 views on YouTube (and over 17 tracks, that’s even less than you think it is).

It was early 2012 and I realized I had recorded about an album’s length of material, so I released it on DatPiff.  I also realized, judging from said ‘album’, that I was a terrible rapper and it was ridiculous to think anyone should waste their time listening to such “armchair Hip Hop”.   This, in itself, was enough for me to ask the question: “Could I do it any better if I actually tried?”

So I did try — really, really hard.  That very summer I made up my mind I was going to make a rap album that was somewhat listenable.  There was also a serious sense of urgency to the project because part of me was a bit sketched out by talks of doomsday and Mayan Apocalypse.  I knew the world wouldn’t end, but I did wonder: “If it would, what would I want to say now?”

I was making music as if it was the last thing I was ever going to make.  Once it was made, however, I realized that life was still continuing and, since I had at least tried to make something, my sense of urgency faded.  Life kicked into full-gear and I was too busy balancing work and school to really find time for rapping.

During this time period, I used Laptop Rap 2 as personal motivation.  Whenever I felt like everything was too much, I remembered that at the end of the day, I made Laptop Rap 2.  It sounds so silly now, but it was quite an accomplishment (in my own head).  Over time, however, inner(/net) criticism dissolved my halcyon daze and I was back to square one: “Could I make an album which would transcend internal criticism?”

Spoilers: Yes.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know that making Hip Hop music, in the 100%-DIY manner I choose to make it, is both therapeutic and a powerful tool for self-motivation.  I’m telling you all this because I wanted those who know me in-person to understand my intentions and that no, I haven’t lost my mind.  If you really respect me as a person, you will indulge my rap-fantasy and give my tunes a listen – you’ll be surprised.

Why Kanye West’s $120 T-Shirt is… genius?

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The truth is, you aren’t going to buy a t-shirt for $120 if you aren’t rich. No one who isn’t rich could justify that kind of money.  There’s nothing about the t-shirt which projects wealth and no one is going to look at the interior lining, so this is why super-fans cannot buy this shirt and understand its purpose.

The purpose of this shirt is for the person who bought the shirt (and that person alone).  It’s a reminder that when you put on your t-shirt, you know the price.  You know how much money you have that you can afford to drop $120 on a novelty.  This confidence will undoubtedly make the person wearing the t-shirt, wear it better.

Additionally, this solves a problem in personal wealth perception, where items like undershirts and white t-shirts were always going to be the same price; they will always feel cheap.  Now, you can have wealth even when it looks like you don’t; a wealth so powerful that it resonates without any indication of why — you are wealth.

Anyone who simply “wears a white t-shirt” won’t have that empowered personal feeling of wealth.  That’s why you have to buy Kanye’s $120 brand.  It’s just enough that anyone could buy it if they really wanted to, but too much for anyone who isn’t rich to casually buy (like you would a white t-shirt).

Lyrical Analysis: “Remember The Time?” by Michael Jackson

*Remixed by Girl Talk to use Daft Punk’s production on “Get Lucky” as the backing track:

Loved this when I first heard it and immediately ran to grab the speakers out of my car.  When I got back I looped it on-repeat, even though I knew the neighbors would hate me.  I played the one minute clip for about 5-6 minutes, on loop.  Then I realized I needed to listen to it louder, so I grabbed my Senns and looped it for about half an hour.

I was absolutely in love with the song, then realized how beautiful it was to hear Michael Jackson in what sounded like brand-new material.  Daft Punk’s new “Get Lucky”, which is itself an attempt to preserve the spirit of MJ-era (and earlier) music, seems meant for Micheal Jackson’s SUBLIME vocal talent.

I thought how he had passed, but more importantly how hard of a life he had despite unconditional love for the world.  “Do you remember when we fell in love?”  Do you remember how bright the radio shined when you first heard Michael Jackson?  Do you remember how perfect his songwriting was and the colossal amount of talent he had?  Even if you don’t, here’s a chance to hear it again.

I started tearing up in my right eye, very naturally, until I caught myself.  I didn’t want to stop though, because I was crying from sheer inspiration; hearing an otherworldly, godlike presence sounding so beautifully and in accord with Daft Punk’s immaculate production.

It had been a long time since music had really hit me in this way.  I remember how this used to happen all the time, even just last year.  I missed this.  The lyrics continued: “We were young and innocent then.”  I missed music.  I wanted to fall in love again, but all new music I heard wasn’t resonating with me. I wanted to fall in love with music again, and there, while listening, it was finally happening.

This, of course, just brought on a full-blown stream of tears under each eye.  As if achieving lucidity in a dream-state, I realized this was happening: “See?  Love is real.  All is infinite, overwhelming love.  You’re listening to it.  This is it; it can happen again and again.”

Fate is merciful and sounds like Michael Jackson, singing in a voice that is post-gender; post-identity: embodying perfection in a state which transcends physicality and description.  “Do you remember the time when we fell in love?”  Yes, now I do.  Thank you for reminding me, Michael.