Chapters
- The Campbell Paradox
- The Geriatric Philosopher
- Introduction Conjunction
- Belief or Relief (coming soon...)
Warning: This episode contains mature situations intended for an adult audience. Reader discretion is advised.
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I'd like to point out that it was the incredible Gary Sinese Foundation that brought the issue of Veteran's rights to my attention. I've always had little respect for those who'd forget the great contribution made by those who've risked life and limb to defend those values that so many of us espouse. Perhaps the true measure of one's principles are by that for which they'd risk their life.
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Shhhh! Digital Media
Brian Joseph Johns
Shhhh! Digital Media Presents:
Grand Tapestry Of Moments 04
The Other Side
by Brian Joseph Johns
The Campbell Paradox
There is for the most part, only one way we make an entry into this fray that we call life and that is a fact that we cannot escape.
Or so we thought.
In July 25, 1978, a baby was born via cesarian section. The baby born was the very first baby conceived via in vitro fertilization.
For those of you without formal training in Latin, that means test tube baby, though in ancient Rome, in the region where the Latin language originated there were no test tube babies, and the phrase actually translates to in glass.
Quite applicable it would seem, though that only attends to conception.
As much so as there is only one way that we come to exist in this life, there is only one way that we escape.
Yes, you read that correctly. I did indeed write the word escape, and that is because when you arrive close to the end of your road here, you'll quickly begin to realize that everything you've laboured towards for your entire life is a trap. A dead end. No way back.
And it all ends in confinement of a sort and that is because life is a prison.
Or so we thought.
...
The heart monitor blipped at regular intervals, the LED display periodically jumping in a familiar pattern that any mathematician or engineer would recognize as a rapid spike merged logarithm. A waveform common in many bodily functions, not limited to or excluding the act of excretion, though thankfully we're not presenting content here promoting any form of scatting. However, tread carefully while you're here and don't tell me that I didn't warn you.
A step to the left of the heart monitor was a bed, occupied by a man, elderly so and Scottish as was evident by his faded short red hair (now much closer to a hazy grey orange), and his angular nose which sat comfortably amidst the wrinkles of his age worn face. He lay in a deep sleep, in his medical gown beneath a thin layer of medical blanket, his only walls, the curtain racks of the ward between the other patients, within which there were all situated.
His belly elevated slightly and rotund enough to accommodate one of his age, the slowly deteriorating functioning of his digestive system allowing for the accumulation of ever more digested material that could not find its way to its proper exit. Again, I remind you about the fact that we are not promoting scatting of any kind, though this poor fellow could have certainly benefitted from the relief of the biological kind.
The day nurse suddenly arrived at his station. A man. Twenty-six. Thin. Handsome. Groping at the cables connecting the patient to the heart monitor to ensure their proper functioning, as the patient suddenly awoke when a tug on one of the cables found a nerve.
He sat up ever so slightly and with a start. Looking wide eyed at his nurse, and then to the heart beat monitor.
He suddenly recalled a moment in Aberdeen. Back when he was but a wee lad (which means anywhere between twenty and fifty to the average Scottish male). He was in a hall, the music played loud and he there within stood before a very firmly shaped and brusquely posed lady, her hand in his as her legs were wrapped 'round one another, her long hair flowing down her back and following her spine almost all the way to her rump. A fact that had his attention and had made him hard, though his concentration was upon the next move.
He strode forward, and the two of them holding each other, as the music continued, spun and until she'd landed once again to greet his face. Those watching them dance, paused to realize that they were seeing a true performance. And some of the other dancers even stopped to applaud. A fact to which he shook his head in disgust, like one who applauds too early in a performance, as if anticipating premature ejaculation as dance is to audience, as is orgasm to an applause.
He was suddenly whisked back to his bed before he'd had a chance to admire his partner's luscious lips, and the rounded whites of her eyes. Joy and ecstasy was a sight to behold, but visions fade and now his eyes held instead the rump of his male nurse.
"Up and at 'em. You've got visitors, James!" the day nurse said to him.
"I cain't! I'm not even dressed you know!" James responded frantically, still imagining himself in his outfit back in Aberdeen all those years ago, a wee lad (twenty to fifty) in all of his glory.
"Do you want me to tell them to leave as in leave?" the nurse asked him, knowing which buttons to press and he did, as the insistent word leave tended to have implicit meaning to those about to depart.
"No! Don't! Don't leave! Don't!" James yelled as the day nurse turned him over onto his stomach and shoved a rectal thermometer, which had been warmed a little bit too long in the heater, into his posterior.
"Ahhh!" he stifled his scream as the hot thermometer cooled.
"This will just take a moment..." the day nurse responded, knowing that James would find the situation reminiscent of an earlier indignity to which he'd been subjected in the same facility a week earlier.
The guests, two of them. A young man, (between twenty and fifty) and a woman (between sixteen and ninety) arrived in the ward, and were stopped just short of entering James' segment.
"He's just undergoing a delicate procedure that will only take a moment longer..." the ward nurse, a woman advised them.
There arose the sound of struggling beyond the curtain, and then the sound of someone "kicking" and then the dignified voice of a Scottish man declaring: "Keep your effing hands off of me ladd!" and then after the clatter of a tray hitting the floor, a short silence again before the same Scottish man spoke.
"Sorry lad. Did that hit ya?" the voice spoke.
At that point, the man and the woman who'd been waiting for access to the resident whom they were visiting stepped forward into the ward without the permission of the ward nurse. The patient's nurse who'd been attending to the patient then struggled to roll the patient over back onto his back, after having grabbed a thermometer from his posterior, which he quickly hid behind his back.
The gloved day nurse then checked the reading of the thermometer and nodded without saying a thing.
"How's James tonight?" the woman asked, stepping forward confidently as the patient's nurse stepped backward.
"He tried to skewer me, he did!" James exclaimed, trying to right himself on his bed and to shove the sheets under his rump.
"I was taking his temperature," the nurse exclaimed, checking the thermometer.
"I take it he's alright?" the woman asked.
"He's fine for a short visit only," the patient's nurse responded, pocketing the thermometer and exiting the section of the ward.
"And how is James today?" asked the young man.
"I'm telling you, they're trying to skewer me, to harp me, to warp me, there to any kind of send me off without myself!" James exclaimed to him in a hurried and nearly incoherent rambling of words.
"Oh, it can't be that bad?" asked the woman.
"Oh, yes it can. Why dune't you try it?" he responded.
"Ahhh, such are the travels near the end of the journey," the woman responded as if it were something with which she were familiar.
"Your journey maybe, but nain't mine," James replied, trying to get his way out of the bed and find the floor near his slippers.
When his feet found the linoleum, he began to run, much like a dog whose feet had arrived inches above the pool and had begun to prematurely swim before even touching the water.
His feet quickly outpaced his upper body and he fell onto his back, the patient nurse quickly hitting an alarm and signaling the ward's goon squad to come running and to heft the poor old man back up onto the bed.
By that time, the ward nurse had insisted that the visitors leave, though they both noticed the same nurse with the rectal thermometer attempting to insert it into the old man's posterior before he was fully overturned.
The ward nurse turned to them and spoke: "If you think that was funny, wait until the punch line," she said to them, quickly abandoning them to assist the patient nurse.
The responding security quickly ushered the man and the woman out of the ward and into the reception area of the hospital as James' manic voice exclaimed in desperation:
"Don't leave me with them! Please, I beg you! Please..." he cried to them as they struggled to silence him.
As much so as the visitors exited James' final moments of life, his only joy rushed out long before he could appreciate their presence, finally subsiding, knowing that his final years had been been nothing more than a ploy to rob him of everything he'd possessed in life, that could not exit with him in death.
His system paused in one final heave, and then stopped as his body ceased to function. He craned his head in the direction of his departing guests, catching their last glance as he ceased.
The woman paused, frantically pointing in James' direction as the goons forced her further along towards the exit. The man struggled against them, but by that time James was already gone.
His last moments, as had been his last years, a torture to secure from him anything that couldn't pass that line. The line of the final moments of death.
The gold of that which couldn't be carried. The wealth of that which could not be bore.
They took it all from him before he died. Those things that had no visible tenure.
No weight. No colour beyond the symbol the thieves had given it.
And his pain was evident in his last moments, as it had been for the years before he died.
And then he was gone. His last moments a lesson in cruelty.
Not the cruelty of medicine or Doctors, for they had done their best.
The cruelty of predators that existed within the breaches of any society, on occasion gathering in packs to elicit the extent of their discompassion* upon the departing.
It was the cruelty of grave robbers.
Those who'd arrived before the one to be departed had made their final journey.
The cruelty of the young to the departing old, though not all young were guilty, and not all elderly were innocent.
It was the cruelty of the fate.
This was what was known as the Campbell Paradox.
The Geriatric Philosopher
The studio lights were very bright. Far brighter than Doctor John Fauxgeizer had anticipated and as he sat in the guest chair, a rather tall stool poised in the middle of a what amounted to being a large room amidst a studio-neutral chromakey backdrop (a fancy term for green screen), he shifted nervously, for this would be his first television appearance. Not just since the release of his book: The Better Years, but his first television appearance ever, despite his dedicated career to the subject for which he was being interviewed.
The light obscured his view of the production booth, as it did much of anything that sat before him. He knew that the studio camera operator was there, with her steady-cam rigged TekNext Voyeur 6K camera, for John heard the woman's footsteps as she paced the studio in side-step fashion lining up for his opening shot.
John felt a sudden itch on his neck, and lifted his hand to scratch it, knocking the lapel microphone affixed to his collar slightly off kilter. A screeching high pitched sound slowly began to emerge from the studio speakers and intercom system, momentarily frightening John, almost sending him over backwards from the stool upon which he sat. After John had caught himself, he heard a few clicks over said speakers, and the humming immediately ceased.
"Whoo! Sorry 'bout that John. Stan here. Its another Monday at the studio and I haven't even had my coffee yet. Look, could you do us a favour and adjust the microphone on your collar there? And we'll flick some switches and click some track balls and have this thing ready to go," the producer's voice emerged from the speakers, and just beyond the light John thought he saw movement from what might be the studio windows and Stan there within looking down upon him from above.
John first adjusted his glasses, pushing them up on his forty-nine year old nose, and then attended to his microphone, trying to rotate it until it was once again directed at his throat. A few beads of sweat dripped down his forehead and along his cleanly shaven cheeks, rousing the scent of his aftershave.
"Makeup? Could you pat John's face down again?" Stan's voice emerged from production booth.
Barely a moment went by before a face emerged from the light, that of a pretty young woman who produced a cloth in her hand and then gently began dabbing the beads of sweat from John's face. One of her nails grazed his left eye, and his hands shot up protectively, nearly knocking the cloth out of her hand.
"I'm so sorry Miss. I... You grazed my..." John began, only to be interrupted by Stan.
"Alright! We're ready for a take. So this is how its going to work. We'll ask you a question. You answer. We proceed to the next question until we run out of questions, at which point we'll signal that fact. Got it?" Stan confirmed with John, who at the same time as he responded with a "Yes", nodded affirmatively.
"Alright. Question one. Could you briefly tell us a little bit about your book, The Better Years?" Stan asked John, who at that moment realized that they'd likely edit what they were shooting in with the voice of the show's host, despite the fact that host was not there at this session or shoot.
"The Better Years is a book that talks about those years that each and every one of us will live, at a time in our life when we are aware of the fact that our expiration might be ten years, or a day away. A time when we know we're living on the brink of what may be our final moments, and how we as a society should collectively be focusing on these aspects of our exit, and the quality of life we afford those who are living out their final years. It really says a lot about us as a society, and sets the tone for those of us who really ponder that question, about the nature and meaning we'll experience near our end," John explained to the camera, which once again he could not see due to the light, but knew was there, likely focused on him at that very moment.
"We got that, right? Did we get it?" Stan's voice emerged from the production booth, though he was obviously addressing someone there within rather than John.
"We got it," Philipé, the production's studio engineer responded, with the edge of a Latin American accent.
"Alright then. Question two. What prompted you to write such a book?" asked Stan of John, the movement of the camera woman just beyond the light catching John's eye.
"I've been working in the field of Geriatric Medicine for about thirty years now, and have really seen the technical excellence of medicine growing in enormous ways, and there being numerous technological strides, but there has also been a lack of attention paid to quality of life, with regard to our senior population, and that's quite concerning, considering that every single one of us, assuming we make it safely all the way, will arrive at that point. As much as there's a growing focus on the experience of birth, there's just as much to be said about the experiencing of the final years before our death, and once again, that is the measure of the humanity of any society, though quality of life should be a factor all of the time in everyone's life, we're tending to forget that more and more when it comes to our senior population. I wanted to write a book that addresses this growing shortcoming," John continued sincerely until he felt he'd answered the question to the best of his ability.
"Could you play that back for me... from the stuff about lack of attention? Sorry John. Just give us a minute here," Stan said to John, as Philipé quickly reviewed the footage and audio for the producer.
"Alright. Everything's there. I thought we missed... the shortcoming stuff. Alright. Next question. What is this, three? Alright. How do you think that your book can help people to improve the quail...? oh, uhhhh quality of life for our senior citizens?" Stan continued with the next question, a short spurt of high pitched feedback erupting from the speakers, and painfully stinging John's ears.
"Ahhh!" John gasped, quickly plugging his ears.
"Sorry 'bout that John. That was me. Was it me? Sorry. Anyway, go on," Stan quickly steered them back on course after having nearly derailed them again.
"What was the question again?" John requested of the producer.
"...How do you think that..." Stan started and this time it was John who interrupted, his patience slowly wearing thin.
"Oh yeah. Ok. How do I think that my book can help people improve quality of life issues for seniors? I think that there are a few key issues involved, especially with regard to the way modern society seems to operate, though if we're able to as a society acknowledge these aspects and be mindful of them throughout the course of our day, that will be the first steps towards changing these aspects that involve how we treat seniors, and how they treat us, though make no mistake. There is no distinction between us and them, because we're all going to be them someday, if we're fortunate enough to make it all the way. My book examines what I've identified as the key factors, and outlines a number of plausible solutions to deal with each one," John replied, leaning forward with confidence in his answer.
"I'm sorry about that John, but we're going to need you to repeat everything from... that will be the first steps forward towards..." Stan requested of John, who momentarily smirked, but once again found his sense of patience, pushing his growing frustration into the background once again.
"Ok. Uhhh, lets see. There are key issues involved that are related to the way modern society seems to operate. However, if we're able to as a society acknowledge these aspects and become mindful of ourselves throughout the course of the day, that will herald our first steps toward change. Change in how we treat seniors and how they treat us, keeping in mind that there is no distinction between us and them. We're all going to be in their shoes someday, if we're fortunate enough to make it all the way. My book examines what I've identified as the key factors, and outlines a number of plausible solutions to deal with each one," John cautiously navigated his answer, trying to illustrate what he'd stated earlier, somehow losing the spontaneity of immediacy along the way.
"Finally John, if you could coin a term to describe your approach, what would it be?" asked Stan as he wrapped up the last of the questions.
"I think I would call it Geriatric Philosophy, which would make me one of a growing number of Geriatric Philosophers," John replied with a quaint smile.
"That's a wrap! We got it. Didn't we? Please tell me we got that?" Stan's voice emerged from the speakers once again.
"We got that," Philipé responded to Stan, a sense of early relief apparent in his voice.
"Thanks so much for coming today John. We'll give you call and let you know when your segment will air," Stan assured John and the big studio lights suddenly went out.
"So that's how it all works, is it?" after John had removed the lapel microphone, he remarked to himself.
"Thank you Mr. Fauxgeizer. My mother is a big fan by the way. She finished your book last month. She really enjoyed it. Could you sign it for her?" asked the camera woman of John.
"Oh, really? I'm glad she liked it. Certainly," John replied to her, signing her book:
For your ears, and your daughter's lovely eyes (the camera). May your better years be truly better.
John Fauxgeizer
John pocketed his pen and returned the camera woman's copy of his book to her.
"Thank you so much. She'll just adore this," the camera woman smiled.
"You have a wonderful day, and thank you for making me look so good," John turned and left through the studio door, venturing out into a cold Monday morning.
Introduction Conjunction
John stepped in through the office door, still in the same attire he'd been wearing earlier that morning (for the interview) and with his briefcase in hand he adjusted the glasses on his nose.
"Mr. Fauxgeizer? Oh its so lovely to finally meet you. Mrs. Graizel is in her office and expecting you if you want to just give the door a quick tap and step in..." a woman in her early forties, Mrs. Elna greeted him as the door closed behind him.
He took a quick look around the office, perhaps trying to get his bearings. It was as he'd seen many times before. The front office in a senior's retirement home, including the reception counter where Mrs. Elna was situated, seated on a tall stool that that gave her five foot three height the extra it needed for her to work the counter.
The office was as any modern office of this day and age, a complex cacophony of disorder and the reduced surface area footprints of a variety of office hardware, as if we'd somehow both managed to reduce the space our tools take up, and yet take up more space with the need for that sense of emptiness.
John finally found the door which Mrs. Elna had indicated, it being camouflaged somewhat against the empty background and painted similarly to the colour of the wall. He stepped over to the door and tapped politely as Mrs. Elna had suggested, waiting for a response. One emerged from the intercom system that was simply a short and quaint: "please come in".
"Mrs. Grainer?" John smiled politely, looking to her for approval concerning his memory of her name.
"Graizel. Mrs. Graizel. I guess you've made a lot of acquaintances since the release of your book, and hence have been adding a lot of names to that noggin of yours?" she laughed as she stood from her cherry stained hardwood desk.
"A little over forty names in the last three hours. I'm sorry yours got a bit fumbled in the crowd you might say?" John responded politely as Mrs. Graizel gestured to a seat in front of her desk.
"We're so glad that you made it. They're really looking forward to your session and I can't tell you how grateful I am that you were able to make time for this with your busy itinerary," Mrs. Graizel gushed ever so slightly as she poured it on thick.
"Oh, its my pleasure. Really. This is... what I do and being able to have an impact of some beneficial kind is why I do it. Now I hate to rush things, but I have a specific cutoff time and we're already ten minutes before the scheduled start of my session. Perhaps we should see the auditorium where I'll be delivering this talk?" John asked Mrs. Graizel, nudging her delicately so as to preserve his already overbooked schedule.
"This session is going to be a little different. You see, this session will be with twelve of our clients. Those who are most at risk of taking the next step in their journey within the next year. We thought that in their receiving the gift you have to share with them, that they might spend their last steps of this long journey sharing it with others in the home. They'll get the most out of it, and certainly will value it and likely be able to convey it to others before their time is done," Mrs. Graizel explained her logic.
"Then lets get there and get setup and get the session under way, shall we?" John stood, insistent on getting as much time delivering the session as he could spare.
And with that, the two of them made their way up to the third floor and community room number six.
...
When they'd arrived, the twelve had been seated outside of the room, situated on the waiting benches that lined the end of the hall nearest a sky light through which light poured as that section, a small foyer peered over the courtyard.
The people were distributed amongst various groups, four of them seated together, two women and two men. One of the women being of some European ethnicity, possibly French or even Portuguese, and the other most probably Caribbean, possibly from from Haiti or Trinidad. Of the two men, one was East African, most likely Kenyan, and the other was British most probably Saxon or Anglo-Saxon.
Another three who appeared to have origins from somewhere in the Middle East, two of them women, one wearing her traditional hijab and the other without, though still wearing some aspects of her traditional ancestry, both of them wearing mostly dark colours. The third was a man who was almost entirely dressed in white, a long kandura covering his body, a taqiya atop of his head.
Another two, a woman of Scandinavian origins and a Germanic man sat together, the two of them discussing an article in the magazine brandished in the hands of the Scandinavian woman. John caught the name of the magazine (Scientific Nature) as Mrs. Graizel used her keycard to unlock the door.
Finally, there were a group of three, one of them clearly from India, given her attire and her bindi, which prominently marked the center just above the line between her brows on her forehead. She sat speaking with another woman, this one of Southeast Asian descent, possibly from China or Vietnam, a fact which John could not quite discern. Her hair was done up in a bun, and she wore a cheongsam which despite her age, looked shapely and fit her quite well. The last, a man who was most likely of Indigenous ancestry (possibly of some Latin American measure such as Incan or Mayan ) sat with them, throwing in his words every so often and mostly waiting for ample pause between the other two when doing so.
"If you'd like to come in and get yourselves situated, we'll be starting the session very soon. We're sorry for the delay if it was any inconvenience," Mrs. Graizel stood aside as John made his way to the front of the room.
John turned upon his arrival there, placing his briefcase beside the chair facing the chairs of his audience, the custodial staff having already setup the room the night before.
"Once you get yourselves comfortable, just let me know and we'll get this session underway," John faced them as they one by one made their way to one of the chairs that had been set for them, still retaining their earlier group cohesion and cliques.
A few minutes went by as Mrs. Graizel discussed the lunch and break schedule that had been arranged. Their lunch would be delivered from the kitchen to the meeting room where they would pause for half hour to eat and then continue their session into the afternoon until John would have to leave to maintain his busy schedule and book tour.
When they'd finished their conversation over these arrangements, Mrs. Graizel turned to face the audience.
"Good morning to you all. I'd like to introduce you to Doctor John Fauxgeizer, who despite his busy schedule has managed to upon my request, make time to deliver a very special talk related to the ideas and context of his latest book, The Better Years. Ladies and gentlement, I leave you in the capable hands of Doctor Fauxgeizer," Mrs. Graizel stepped aside as John took the center before the audience as they gave him a light applause.
"Thank you kindly for the warm welcome, and thank you very much Mrs. Graizel for the warm introduction..." John smiled at Mrs. Graizel, who returned the gesture and then turned and made her way over to the door and left as John began his session with them.
"Now. You all know my name, but I'm at a great loss because I don't know yours, and this session is going to be about us all. So what I'd like to do is for each of you to in turn, starting with this dignified woman seated here on my right, introduce yourselves, using whatever name of nickname you'd prefer to be addressed as for the purposes of this session so that we all know each other. I've had a lot of names thrown at me in the last twenty-four hours, but I'll do my best to recall each of yours, but you'll probably have to help me out for a bit at first. Go ahead if you could M'aam?" John explained to them as they listened intently, then bidding them to begin with their introductions.
"Good day Doctor. My name is Ethel Mabelle, though you can simply call me Ethel as most of my friends in here do. I was a loyal housewife to my husband for over fifty years, until he passed away three years ago. We used to run a Saturday program for the community, offering good food and a place for the the elderly to sit and chat and play cards and what not. When I was younger I held my bake sales for extra coin during the rough years, and we did well with my husband's business during the good years. I have a daughter, married and she lives on the other side of the country in Calgary," Ethel introduced herself, directing her well spoken charm in John's direction.
"I am Terina and that's what my friends call me and the name my own mother gave me under the watchful eyes of the lord," Terina, the Caribbean woman gave her introduction, emphasizing her last phrase in a somewhat intimidating and frightening manner.
"My name is Mwangi and I am from Kenya and a city called Kitale. I grew in a relief village run by UN volunteers on the outskirts and we fled during the election cycle of 1988. This past January, I turned eighty-one," Mwangi smiled, speaking in a friendly voice and revealing a mouth nearly absent of teeth.
"I'm Jerry Stuart. A long retired machinist and tool and die maker from yesteryear trained and apprenticed in Manchester before moving here. I worked years in the industrial section of the downtown core, makin' the very tools that built this city. Then, I designed the parts that made the machines that replaced me. A sad time that was, but so close to my retirement. I guess you could say that I retired with my trade, perhaps my best friend of all. I retired at sixty-five which was more than twenty years ago, but I've still got callouses and a handshake that could crush even the strongest hands of any of today's youth. The good lord keeps the strength of the hard and honest working man! Ain't that right Mwangi?" Jerry introduced himself, a thick British and Scottish accent present in his words.
"Ahhh sooo true," Mwangi agreed with Jerry.
"Would you like some help, if you're shy or would prefer not to speak?" John addressed the woman in the hijab.
"I speak for you. Is ok?" asked the man in the white kandura of the woman in the hijab.
She nodded affirmatively to him, keeping herself meagre and withdrawn.
"This fine lady is Soraia. She is very shy in public, but quite talkative when she is comfortable. I'm sure that she will tell you that when she's ready," the man introduced her, and she smiled at the man and then at John, still somewhat withdrawn.
The lady seated to Soraia's right waited patiently as the man in the kandura introduced Soraia, and then when there was sufficient opening, she introduced herself.
"I am Yasna. I am from Iran. I was alumni of University of Tehran and fled with my father when I was twenty-eight. During the revolution. He was taken by the opposition forces at the airport and held as a prisoner of conscience, while I was allowed to flee. I came here and built my life from nothing," Yasna's face remained mostly calm and settled as she introduced herself and spoke her truth.
There was a moment of somber reflection, before the man in the white kandura introduced himself.
"I am Imad Tawadu. I came here from Jordan very long time ago to marry wife. Her family and my family make arrangements, and then I come and move. I work many years on production line in factory, raise family with son and daughter, both are married, with children, many of whom too are married. My life has been fruitful. My wife Saboli, she pass, taken to heaven, and now I bide my time until I'm called to be with her, Inshalla," Imad introduced himself in the soft spoken voice of a man who'd lived more than eighty years.
"I am Ingrid Solveig, and I was an Aerospace engineer for the CSA, before retiring with my wife. We lived together north of the city until she passed away thirteen years ago. I gave most of my money to charity and used the remainder to pay for my stay here until the end. I am currently seventy-nine and thankfully healthy as of my last checkup," Ingrid explained to those in the room through her twinkling eyes, both of which were accented with crows feet, giving her an almost permanent smile.
"My name is called Lars Schtroumfler. I am a certified Audio Engineering Specialist which I got from Trebas Institute and I also have a Bachelor's degree in Music which I got from Humber, both of which I achieved after the age of sixty. I was the bassist for the band Cadence, who were very, very popular in the early 1970s. We played filled stadiums many times with bands like The Rolling Stones, The Who and Heart. I joined them after moving here from Germany when I was twenty-four back in 1969, when everything was peace love and hippy beads. Now it is very different with lots of wars and stress, but there's also technology for making people far away much closer and computers and AI and everything making life better for research and health. I haven't seen a real push button phone for at least thirty years, and a dial phone for at least fifty, but at least I still have a turn-table in my room so I can play my music on vinyl. I am eighty-one years old, and in relatively good health, but I've seen that things can change quickly, so I enjoy every moment I have, including this one," Lars smiled as he introduced himself.
"So you were quite the schmoozer and finagler, weren't you?" Ethel asked Lars in a friendly and yet humourous voice.
"Oh yes, we were. All of us. I could tell you stories one after the other for days and still barely touch the surface," Lars smiled as he recalled his days playing music.
"My mother was a musician. She played the Bansuri oh so beautifully," the woman with the bindi stated, she too recalling distant memories.
"That's a wind instrument if I'm not mistaken?" Lars confirmed with her.
"Yes, that's correct..." she replied.
"We played a performance with Ravi Shankar, and he brought his own orchestra and that is where I learned eastern scaling. As it goes, some instruments are tuned differently... and have quarter tones rather than just semi-tones as is the case with western music and equal temperament," Lars continued, always eager to talk.
"Miss, I'm sorry to interrupt your conversation but we didn't get your name and I am certainly as is everyone else who doesn't know you, eager to know who you are?" John interrupted before their conversation overtook the purpose of their session.
"Thank you. I am Diya Ishani, and I've lived here for my entire life, born here back in 1953, where I grew up in the west end of the city. A good friend of my father's, a man named Gian Naaz opened a movie theatre on Gerrard Street in the 1970s, which featured mostly Bollywood films. We moved there in mid 1970, by which point the area had become known as Little India, thanks to the influx of South Asian businesses to the area drawn by the theatre. I lived most of my life there, getting married when I was in my mid-thirties, though we never had a family together for medical reasons. My husband passed away just last year, and my Doctor suggested that I relocate to a care facility, and so I moved here," Diya explained her story after introducing herself.
"Oh, you never tell me that. About Mr. Naaz. Ahhh. My family too. We make business in north part of city. Rent from Chinese until we could afford proper mortgage..." the lady in the cheongsam began explaining, a thick accent and a friendly tone in her voice.
"We'd like to know your name too," John interjected.
"I am... my name is Sen Vy Lan. My family wealthy back in Ho Chi Minh City. My sister, Huệ Vân stay, and I go. I move here just before Vietnam war, with a couple. We rent house together. We meet Chai Chinese family at work, assembling watches for factory on production line. Chai later open restaurant on Sheppard Avenue called King Chai's. Very popular Cantonese gourmet and Mandarin cuisine. He rent to us a storefront nearby and we open Vietnamese grocery. We make good money and save, save, save until we buy place on Gerrard Street in Little China. We open grocery with bakery and make more good money. Bring more family and make more good business. I never marry, and economy get bad and we sell. I work for years in restaurants until I can work no more. With savings and pension, I come here to the senior home," Sen Vy Lan introduced herself and her story.
"My name is Ohwaho Kanatase. I'm second removed from my Mohican line and ancestry. I was a tradesman, working as a mechanic for the city, maintaining its fleet of garbage trucks and made very good money. I had many good friends, and many good times, but I never make a wife, but I did buy a home. I worked every day of my life, until I retired at sixty-five and by then, I don't recognize anyone anymore. All my friends are gone and I am alone. I take my money and come here. Now I am not alone but I am soon to be no more," Ohwaho Kanatase spoke in a very atonal delivery as he spoke of his life and eventual end.
"I think that's all of you, and I have to say that its quite amazing having such a diverse representation of life here in this country, as much so as it probably represents life in this facility. You could say that in one sense, you're all a subset of the world, and I'd be willing to bet that there's much that you have coming as you progress, and I'd be willing to bet that time, despite its dwindling nature, is going to be much more abundant than you might initially think. So lets get down to talking about why that is," John now having met everyone, began the session.
Coming soon...
To be continued...
Written by Brian Joseph Johns ♏
Not produced in Zoo Bar and I'm European Canadian. I'm not Bobby, or Michael Jacks. I don't play guitar and I've never owned a guitar in my life. I'm not a member of any cult that swaps people's identities between other different people. The pleroma is not the true pleroma.
Thank you to Germind, whose music will appear in a future episode, assuming that Shhhh! Digital Media is akin to the fuel rather than the exhaust... ;-)
* Discompassion - A word that does not exist, and yet does for the purposes of this story. I'm taking artistic license and giving it life. It means quite literally the opposite of compassion: lack of empathy, an inability to relate the suffering of others to one's own existential experiences that include pain and suffering.
Credits and attribution:
Thank you both the Deepai.org and Photopea.com, without whom the title art would not have been possible.
Special Thanks To Rocket Fuel Lakeshore Blvd West, perhaps the best place in history to get a coffee, circa 2001-2004. Miss you all very much.
Special Thanks To Rocket Fuel Lakeshore Blvd West, perhaps the best place in history to get a coffee, circa 2001-2004. Miss you all very much.
Artwork: Amy Wong, Wendy Pusey, Ghastly, Birdman, Brian Joseph Johns, Daz3D, Unreal Engine...Tools: Daz3D, Corel Painter, Adobe Photoshop, Lightwave 3D, Blender, Stable Diffusion (Easy Diffusion distribution), InstantID, Sadtalker, Google Colaboratory, Microsoft Copilot (Windows 11), Hitfilm, PhotoPea (a great web based Photoshop stand-in if you're on a low budget or in a pinch), Deepai.org, Google AI Studio, Borderline Obsession...
DeepSeek AI for suggestions on exercises to improve aspects of describing scene and settings with a more sensory focused grammar.
InstantID by: Wang, Qixun and Bai, Xu and Wang, Haofan and Qin, Zekui and Chen, Anthony. Research Paper Title: InstantID - Zero-shot Identity-Preserving Generation in Seconds.
Sadtalker by: Zhang, Wenxuan and Cun, Xiaodong and Wang, Xuan and Zhang, Yong and Shen, Xi and Guo, Yu and Shan, Ying and Wang, Fei.
Research Paper Title: SadTalker: Learning Realistic 3D Motion Coefficients for Stylized Audio-Driven Single Image Talking Face Animation.
Gratitude: Our Mentors, Senseis, Sifus, Sebomnims, lifetime inspirations, family, friends, the Nomads (ask Stanton about that one), the Music, the Movies, the Theatre, the Arts, ASMR, (both YouTube and Bilibili and the many other creators on those platforms), the Gaming and Developer communities and of course, the audience.
Martial Arts (in the words of real experts and at least one comedian): https://brucelee.com (home of the real Dragon and an entire family of inspirations), http://iwco.online International Wing Chun Organization (International presence of a very scalable intensity martial art, protected and developed by Shaolin Nun Ng Mui) and the alma mater of Jinn Hua's own specialized variation thereof, https://iogkf.com International Okinawan Goju-Ryu Karatedo Federation (even Hanshi had his teachers), https://itftkd.sport International Taekwondo Federation (Here there be Taegers), https://tangsoodoworld.com Tang Soo Do World (the path of Grandmaster Chuck Norris), https://www.aikido-international.org International Aikido Federation (how else would Navy Chef Steven Seagal liberate a Nimitz Class Aircraft Carrier from a team of hijackers?), https://www.stqitoronto.com Shaolin Temple Quanfa Institute (The City Of Toronto's own Shaolin Temple), https://www.enterthedojoshow.com Master Ken's Ameri-Te-Do presence (If we can't laugh at ourselves, then we can at least laugh the loudest at others, and other Zen)
Magic (performance, illusion and perhaps the real thing): Magic Week Archive (I'm currently growing this section so stay tuned)
Special thanks to Aitrepreneur, Mickmumpitz, Hugging Face and the YouTube educational content producers, including those catering to the AI content production pipeline and of course AlphaSignal.
Shi Heng Yi Shaolin Training For Self Mastery
A reknowned Sifu under whose tutelage you can study the theory and practical applications of the Shaolin Arts for health, physical and mental wellbeing in every day life
Shi Heng Yi Shaolin Training For Self Mastery
A reknowned Sifu under whose tutelage you can study the theory and practical applications of the Shaolin Arts for health, physical and mental wellbeing in every day life
Jesse Enkamp: Karate Nerd
Jesse, a reknowned Sensei who runs his own dojo, explores the world of Martial Arts, traveling to many exotic locations to meet practitioners of a variety of different arts
Sensei Rokas: Martial Arts Journey
A reknowned Sensei of Aikido who in seeking to understand the roots of Aikido and its applications, seeks to stress test its effectiveness in a number of real world situations while studying its history
Seamus O'Dowd
An extensive growing archive Katas, Techniques and Waza (mostly Shotokan)
Iaido: Train For Katana Mastery Like Samurai
The original weapons focused curriculum under which Samurai became masters of their art
Tapp Brothers Exercise For Better Motion
Extensive courses for calisthenics and body strength, stamina and flexibility
Special thanks to Canva for inspiring other creators and giving them the tools
Special thanks to Captain Crunch and his wonderful sister!
Special thanks to Bandcamp for giving indie music artists a home under one roof
Something to give you perspective: The very first teacher had no formal education, didn't graduate and was self taught, but only because they had no other choice. We do.
Tools: Daz3D, Corel Painter, Adobe Photoshop, Lightwave 3D, Blender, Stable Diffusion (Easy Diffusion distribution), InstantID, Sadtalker, Google Colaboratory, Microsoft Copilot (Windows 11), Hitfilm, PhotoPea (a great web based Photoshop stand-in if you're on a low budget or in a pinch), Deepai.org, Google AI Studio, Borderline Obsession...
DeepSeek AI for suggestions on exercises to improve aspects of describing scene and settings with a more sensory focused grammar.
InstantID by: Wang, Qixun and Bai, Xu and Wang, Haofan and Qin, Zekui and Chen, Anthony. Research Paper Title: InstantID - Zero-shot Identity-Preserving Generation in Seconds.
Sadtalker by: Zhang, Wenxuan and Cun, Xiaodong and Wang, Xuan and Zhang, Yong and Shen, Xi and Guo, Yu and Shan, Ying and Wang, Fei.
Research Paper Title: SadTalker: Learning Realistic 3D Motion Coefficients for Stylized Audio-Driven Single Image Talking Face Animation.
Gratitude: Our Mentors, Senseis, Sifus, Sebomnims, lifetime inspirations, family, friends, the Nomads (ask Stanton about that one), the Music, the Movies, the Theatre, the Arts, ASMR, (both YouTube and Bilibili and the many other creators on those platforms), the Gaming and Developer communities and of course, the audience.
Martial Arts (in the words of real experts and at least one comedian): https://brucelee.com (home of the real Dragon and an entire family of inspirations), http://iwco.online International Wing Chun Organization (International presence of a very scalable intensity martial art, protected and developed by Shaolin Nun Ng Mui) and the alma mater of Jinn Hua's own specialized variation thereof, https://iogkf.com International Okinawan Goju-Ryu Karatedo Federation (even Hanshi had his teachers), https://itftkd.sport International Taekwondo Federation (Here there be Taegers), https://tangsoodoworld.com Tang Soo Do World (the path of Grandmaster Chuck Norris), https://www.aikido-international.org International Aikido Federation (how else would Navy Chef Steven Seagal liberate a Nimitz Class Aircraft Carrier from a team of hijackers?), https://www.stqitoronto.com Shaolin Temple Quanfa Institute (The City Of Toronto's own Shaolin Temple), https://www.enterthedojoshow.com Master Ken's Ameri-Te-Do presence (If we can't laugh at ourselves, then we can at least laugh the loudest at others, and other Zen)
Magic (performance, illusion and perhaps the real thing): Magic Week Archive (I'm currently growing this section so stay tuned)
Special thanks to Aitrepreneur, Mickmumpitz, Hugging Face and the YouTube educational content producers, including those catering to the AI content production pipeline and of course AlphaSignal.
Shi Heng Yi Shaolin Training For Self Mastery
A reknowned Sifu under whose tutelage you can study the theory and practical applications of the Shaolin Arts for health, physical and mental wellbeing in every day life
Shi Heng Yi Shaolin Training For Self Mastery
A reknowned Sifu under whose tutelage you can study the theory and practical applications of the Shaolin Arts for health, physical and mental wellbeing in every day life
Jesse Enkamp: Karate Nerd
Jesse, a reknowned Sensei who runs his own dojo, explores the world of Martial Arts, traveling to many exotic locations to meet practitioners of a variety of different arts
Sensei Rokas: Martial Arts Journey
A reknowned Sensei of Aikido who in seeking to understand the roots of Aikido and its applications, seeks to stress test its effectiveness in a number of real world situations while studying its history
Seamus O'Dowd
An extensive growing archive Katas, Techniques and Waza (mostly Shotokan)
Iaido: Train For Katana Mastery Like Samurai
The original weapons focused curriculum under which Samurai became masters of their art
Tapp Brothers Exercise For Better Motion
Extensive courses for calisthenics and body strength, stamina and flexibility
Special thanks to Canva for inspiring other creators and giving them the tools
Special thanks to Captain Crunch and his wonderful sister!
Special thanks to Bandcamp for giving indie music artists a home under one roof
Something to give you perspective: The very first teacher had no formal education, didn't graduate and was self taught, but only because they had no other choice. We do.
This content is entirely produced in Toronto, Ontario, Canada at 200 Sherbourne Street Suite 701 under the Shhhh! Digital Media banner.
This content is entirely produced in Toronto, Ontario, Canada at 200 Sherbourne Street Suite 701 under the Shhhh! Digital Media banner.
