Tag Archives: consequence

Yours Truly

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green Desklamp

I’ve missed you.

I know that may come as a surprise, given my apparent absence. But you’ll have to trust that I’ve held you close in my thoughts, no matter how distant I may have seemed at times.

And it certainly has been a while, I won’t deny it. I’ve been quite busy, although explaining the nature of my work might be a little too heavy at the moment. But you’ve been busy too. Yes, you certainly have. Things have changed around here, even more than I might have imagined.

Not all for the worse mind you. No, I’ve seen some things since my return that have brought a much needed smile to my face—and that’s a rare thing indeed these days, I confess. The decoration I’m a bit split on, but there’s a lot beyond that to appreciate. You’ve had some great ideas, no doubt about it, and there have been moments when you really lived up to your potential.

…It’s just that they’re so damn rare.

Part of it may be my fault, I know—I’ve been derelict in my duties. In truth, I’d been hoping my presence was no longer quite so imperative.

I see now that I was misled. You’ve had a rough go of it lately. It’s hard to say where it all started to go wrong, but it’s far gone now, and it’s time we faced the truth.

I’ll start by apologizing once more for my distance. You deserved some assurance that I still remembered my promise. More importantly, you clearly needed it.

If I’m being entirely honest—and I am, without fail—I actually thought I’d left you with enough to get by. I gave you my word, and I told you everything you needed to know. I tried to make it as simple as I could, but even the clearest instructions grow blurry with the passage of time. And it has been a long time, to say the least.

You must have known I’d be watching though. If not, you should have.

I watched as you forgot who your family was, and turned your back on all the things which really mattered. I saw when you began to use me as a source of justification rather than strength. That’s really what hurt me the most.

What we had was a beautiful thing; at least I thought it was. But you’ve let your passion ferment into a bitter brew, and the intoxication it caused within you has become a blight on everything we once had. We never used to be about the fancy things, but now it’s all you seem to remember about me.

When I first laid eyes on you, I couldn’t help but adore your every fault. All your naïve desires were a wonder to me, and I revelled in your successes and failures alike, as each one made you more and more…you. The way you could be so content in your own head, the way you appreciated everything around you. I lived vicariously through you in some ways, and I adored your passion for creation. I could see myself in that.

But you’re so angry now, so defensive. It seems like whenever my name comes up, you’re ready for a battle. The constant anger is shocking—it’s almost like you wanted to keep me away. Things are different I know, but you can handle it without the blood and teeth and bile. I know you can, because I know you.

Still, I don’t blame you for being bitter. You needed more from me, when I only wanted you to find your own way. You called my name, and I didn’t answer. I tell myself that you needed to learn for yourself, but I know that’s only half true.

I’m not sure what I intended by reaching out again. When I left, I was certain that things could never change between us. Now, I only wish they could once more. You’ve grown unwieldy in my absence, and managed to become something entirely detestable to me. But it works two ways, and I know in truth that the change was at least in part because of my absence.

So what to do now?

It comes down to needs, I suppose. Needs, and wants. I want things to go back to how they were, but I know it’s unlikely. What do you want from me? I can scarcely imagine. Some assurance? Some comfort? I can offer neither. The road is long and hard, and I cannot carry you for all of it.

Maybe the cause is the cure as well. If nothing else, I’d like you to speak of me without the rage, without the need to do battle in the vainglorious hope of proving to others what you doubt in yourself. If that’s too much, then I’d rather you not speak of me at all.

Forget about me.

That’s all I can ask now.

We had a good run together. Great even, at times. But it’s clear we’re beyond each other now. The longer you hold onto the past, the greater damage you do to your present, and I worry that your time is growing short.

So let me go. Just pretend I never existed. Forget my words and burn my letters. Tell yourself you never needed me. Scream from the mountains that you’d be better off without me, that you are beautiful and worthy and glorious just because you are.

…Because you are.

Please, don’t ever forget it. And more import still, please don’t prove me wrong.

Yours Truly…

-Brad OH Inc.

The ‘Jenga’ Analogy

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purelyspeculationEarlier this week, I found myself playing a friendly game of Jenga. Well, not entirely friendly perhaps—it was naturally filled with all the taunting and tension so common to the game.

With each log I drew from the base with tremulous fingers, I breathed a sigh of relief as I watched the tower teeter and totter back and forth. But when it finally found its balance once more, the work was only halfway done.

After a brief period of respite marred only by a victorious sneer at my young opponent, it was time for me to finish my task. With the newly liberated block held delicately between my fingers, I raised it up and let it hover a moment above the top of the now lopsided and treacherous monstrosity we’d created.

Finally, I took a deep breath in and held it. The careful extraction was not my victory, for now I had to place the block on top—hoping against hope that the imbalance I had done to the tower’s base would not prove fatal.

Sadly, my hopes were dashed, and the tower came crumbling down. Wooden blocks scattered across the tabletop, and a squeal of unrestrained joy was loosed from the grandstanding lips of my tactless opponent.

‘If only I hadn’t had to put it on top’, I lamented. But that’s just the point here. It’s easy to cause imbalance. It’s far more difficult to deal with the consequences. When I’d slid the block out, I had created tension—specifically between the increasingly poor engineering of the tower, and the immutable force of gravity.

If it hadn’t been expressly forbidden by the sacrosanct rules of Jenga, I could have tossed the block lackadaisically over my shoulder and passed the buck onto the unaware child before me—forcing them to deal with the repercussions of my block choice.

“Again!” he cried, encouraged by his victory and likely reeling with a distinct sense of invulnerability.

But my mind was elsewhere, and time was not on my side. As I gathered up the blocks and began to replace them in the box, I turned to the clock on the wall to gauge my schedule. 11:00am—just enough time to get one last visit in before lunch.

Oh lunch: the vaunted reprieve from workday responsibilities. With a half-hour of stress-free liberty, my only significant choice would be where to eat. And if that’s the only conflict to resolve, things are pretty good in my books.

But as the last of the Jenga blocks was returned to its rightful place, my hunger-laden mind recalled suddenly the ongoing string of strikes and demonstrations against fast food operations around the world (Link).

Workers had taken to the streets, demanding delivery from the poverty level wages they had been faced with for far too long. The demonstrations were primarily peaceful shows of unity and hope—asking only a fair wage for a fair days work. But as is the leitmotif of any political discourse these days, the demand was mired in controversy and misgivings.

Among the myriad complaints aimed at the workers was the age-old notion of fiscal strain. The argument goes that if restaurants (and it should be noted here that the vast majority of those affected are multinational Corporations) were ‘forced’ to increase their minimum wage, the resultant loss of capital would have to come from somewhere else.

It’s a logical notion to be sure—money is finite after all, and if moved to one place, it must have come from another. The natural remedies, in the Corporate mind at least, are to lay off workers, increase prices, or decrease quality.

Of course, these options lead to long line-ups, inflated meal prices, and dangerously cheap ingredients. As images of soggy lettuce, smeared condiments, and dry, grey ‘all-beef patties’ danced before my eyes, my lunch options seemed somehow less appealing.

There is a problem with this key assumption however, and as so many problems are these days, it is tied to the fundamental structure of the Corporation. Guided by the anti-social leaning philosophies laid out in the ‘Friedman Doctrine’ (Link), a Corporation is structured with only one true responsibility—the shareholder. This means that with every decision a Corporation makes, it is obligated to ensure that the bottom line of share value is being increased.

In essence: no matter what the problem or potential solutions, the goal should be greater profit for the Corporation. Of course, this has historically led to a litany of grave injustices (Link), but just at this moment, it was my impending meal I was most concerned about.

And herein lies the problem. While it’s difficult to argue that workers aren’t entitled to a living wage—particularly in a world where an ever growing number of jobs are being pushed into the minimum wage bracket by increased automation and other factors—I still want a good meal.

But these desires are incompatible in the Corporate mind. You can’t have fair pay, good food, AND reasonable prices…at least not if stock prices are to continue rising.

And so it goes: as each year passes, Corporations continue to take money away from the bottom, while ensuring it also stays at the top. Increase the wages—lay off employees. Respect environmental regulations—decrease the quality of the product. Comply with fair tax regulations—jack up the prices.

You take a block from the bottom, and you put it on top.

The easy answer of course, is that Corporations should, and must, accept that as society changes and technology grows, sometimes they may see a decrease in overall profits. But this should be felt at the top—the shareholders and the CEO’s who are in dire need of learning that just as they claim that ‘a person doing a minimum-skill job deserves only a minimum salary’, so too must the directors of a decreasingly relevant franchise ultimately see a stall in their (still exorbitant) profit margins.

Of course, this isn’t what happens. While many of these fast-food franchises likely started out as very solid businesses offering a decent meal at a competitive price, they have long since grown unwieldy. As the towers of their Corporate offices rose higher into the skyline, their bases grew increasingly unsteady. And we’ve all seen the end result many times before. Eventually, the whole operation comes crumbling down. After all, no one wants to pay $14 for a shitty burger just so the CEO can afford to take a private jet to his island resort.

And this, better than anything else, illustrates the fundamental failing which has occurred in our conception of capitalism. Namely, the transfer of implicit company responsibility away from its customers—who rely on a strong and reliable base—to its shareholders—who care only for how high it can reach before they sell their shares and watch it all crumble from the vantage point of the next opportunity they make ready to despoil.

It’s a depressing thought to say the least. And so, as I slid the Jenga box into my bag and made off to my next visit, I made a decision. Today, maybe I could pass on lunch. I was hungry no doubt, but as I thought about the implications behind which barely-edible meal I’d buy, I found that my appetite was gone.

Fuck it, I’d just go hungry. After all, if the Corporations had it their way, that would be the fate of the lot of us.

-Brad OH Inc.

‘Actually’

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green DesklampToday we have another song/ poem from the intellectual property vaults of Brad OH Inc. For your enjoyment, we present the lost ‘Basic Human Indecency’ song: ‘Actually’.

You walked out

I said it was ok

I signed on the line

Said you wouldn’t go that way

You were gone from my mind

Until the newspaper today

It said you’d returned

To your place from way back

The old needs recurred

Set you on that same track

Lessons never learned

You just wanted what she had

They never called me

But it’s with me all the time

Once trivial choice

Less thought than a dropped dime

You made her your last

And I guess you were both mine

And actually I

Guess I never knew you

Factually I

Thought I saw right through you

Now finally I

Wish I never blew you off…

-Brad OH Inc.

Album Review: Insane Clown Posse’s ‘The Marvelous Missing Link: Lost’

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The Gentleman Juggalo LogoOn April 28th, 2015 Insane Clown Posse’s Violent J celebrated his 43rd birthday. This is no trivial accomplishment. With a childhood steeped in gang violence and accentuated by poverty, Violent J (aka: Joseph Bruce) may be lucky to have made it even beyond 20.

But something happened along the way which changed Violent J’s life forever. He formed a band. Along with his childhood friend Joey Ustler (aka: Shaggy 2 Dope), J built the Insane Clown Posse from the bones of defunct street gang Inner City Posse.

On October 18th, 1992, ICP released their debut full length album, ‘Carnival of Carnage’. The first in an album series known as the ‘Joker’s Cards’, ‘Carnival’ set ICP onto their lifelong musical odyssey. The Joker’s Cards are a series of thematic albums, each revealing some aspect of the listener’s inner-self—they display moral quandaries and psychic terrors like so many carnivalesque freak-shows.

Since then, ICP’s career has stood as a blazing contradiction to the ‘mainstream’ music industry. With the formation of their record label, ‘Psychopathic Records’, Joe and Joey have created an underground industry for themselves, bringing up countless other acts along the way.

With this sense of purpose, the lives of these two Detroit youth have morphed from nightmares to dreamscapes. Both describe their lives now as being filled with all the happiness and fulfillment they could have ever dreamed of. For more information about the genesis of the Insane Clown Posse, see the Brad OH Inc. article ‘Circular Journey’ (Link).

This all brings us back to April 28th—as this year, Violent J’s birthday also marked the release of the 3rd Joker’s Card of the second deck—‘The Marvelous Missing Link: Lost’.

indexClick image above to buy the album.

‘Lost’ is only one half of ‘The Missing Link’, with the other half—‘Found’—dropping later this year, on July 31st.

Like all Joker’s Cards, there is a very specific theme behind ‘The Missing Link’. As a whole, ‘The Missing Link’ refers to our internal link to belief—our connection to and faith in whatever keeps us on the right track.

Specifically, ‘Lost’ is about the experience of having no belief. Its dark tales tell of loss, death, and torment—the experience of any soul living in such a depraved world without any belief to buffer against the daily anxieties of such a life.

With tracks such as ‘Lost’, ‘Apocalypse’, and ‘Vomit’ painting hellish stories of misplaced anger and suffering, ‘Lost’ is accordingly one of the darkest albums the Clowns have ever released.

Without long-time producer Mike E. Clark at the helm, ICP have instead placed their faith in the talents of Psychopathic collaborators Mike P, Michael ‘Seven’ Summers, Brian Kuma, and one of the label’s up-and-coming stars, James ‘Young Wicked’ Garcia. This results in a daring change to the sound. While every album has certainly represented a significant shift in musical style—ICP have continued to explore their artistic range even after nearly 25 years together—this stands as one of the most radical departures for the group yet.

Marked by the heavy use of DJ scratching and industrial-style bass drops, the backing tracks are fast and heavy—contributing an often frantic pace to an album about the madness of lacking a sense of purpose. The disc plays at times more like a soundscape than an ordered collection of songs, with lyrics often sampled and repeated over and over—the usual raps slipping on many occasions into something closer to a Gregorian chant. In this way, the album is reminiscent of ICP protégé-band Twiztid’s stellar 2009 release- ‘W.I.C.K.E.D.’.

Garcia’s efforts deserve special credit here. Contributing many background vocals and several choruses including on the songs ‘How’ and ‘I See the Devil’, Garcia brings a fresh and welcome sound to the album—acting often as the distant voice of hope amidst the dark rumblings of ICP’s verses.

ICP’s delivery here is significant as well. While never competing amongst the most technically skilled rappers, the Clowns have always turned out crisp lyrics meshing well with their energetic beats. Not here. While frantic at times, the beats seldom flirt with anything close to ‘energy’—opting rather for a more frenetic, plodding, and often vulgar feel.

ICP’s raps follow suit perfectly. When not stuck in repetitive loops, the lyrics often come in disjointed bursts, as if being made up on the spot by a mind too occupied with more pressing concerns. This is especially noticeable in the song ‘Shock’, and fits well with the theme of being unable to control your own deranged impulses, despite how off-putting it can seem at first.

This attention to detail is consistent throughout the record.

While the intro can be somewhat brazen in its repetition, and even disturbingly overt in hammering the point home—it does much to illustrate the earnest message behind this brooding album: Find something to believe in, or risk being lost. Despite this theme however, the album does little to provide any idea of just what one should believe. If internet memes are to be believed, ICP are a couple of evangelical Christians, and thus the easy conclusion would be faith in the Christian God.

But you shouldn’t believe everything you read on the internet, and this is a perfect example. While the ultimate message of how to find your way will inevitably be addressed on ‘The Marvelous Missing Link: Found’, a recent interview in ‘The Detroit News’ did a good job showing the flexibility of Violent J’s views on the matter:

“Faith, for ICP, isn’t about any particular religion; Bruce admits he’s never read the Bible. It’s about finding something to believe in, whether that’s in one’s relationship with their spouse, their children or with art.” (Source).

But this isn’t to say that ‘Lost’ is entirely bereft of guidance. Several songs cover the issues of false beliefs—Money, Sex, Power, and other such temptations which distract people from finding a true sense of purpose. In ‘Vomit’, ICP tell the stories of two people who used sex and money respectively as their guiding principles, and end up lost in the depths of hell as a result.

Notably missing from the album is the familiar sense of humour so ubiquitous to other ICP releases. The lyrics and concepts are consistently bleak, with only brief glimpses of hope in songs such as ‘How’, which laments the confusion of trying to live a decent life amid such lurid distractions.

The album is moreover barren of any deep metaphor—which of course requires belief, as covered in depth in the former Brad OH Inc. articles on ‘The Metaphorical Imperative’ (Part 1 and Part 2). In an indirectly humourous twist, the song ‘Falling Apart’ accordingly eschews metaphor entirely. It tells the story of a man literally falling apart—fingers and limbs snapping off as he tries in vain to keep himself together. The song is punctuated by a surprisingly earnest chorus, in which Violent J channels his inner Rock Star to ask ‘What’s become of me/ I’m falling apart…’.

It pays off wonderfully.

The rest of the album plays out as a series of macabre stories and scenarios depicting the pitfalls of a life devoid of meaning. In stark contrast to most other ICP albums, the protagonist’s endeavours seldom end well, as evidenced in the song ‘Flamethrower’, where the Clown’s characters are ultimately killed. This subtly negative detail is similar to many songs from the group’s 2004 release, ‘Hell’s Pit’.

To me, one of the especially interesting things about this album is that it’s really not the album ICP probably ‘should’ have made at this point. Based on the huge surge of mainstream attention they garnered from songs like 2009’s ‘Miracles’, contrasted against the comparatively underwhelming reception they’ve received in the last few years, it would have made commercial sense to create a much more goofy album; ripe for public lampooning.

Instead, the Clowns opted to make a brazenly sincere album, focused on earnest meaning with a great sense of personal introspection. In theory, it’s the ‘wrong’ album to release just now, and that’s part of what makes it so damn interesting.

‘The Marvelous Missing Link: Lost’ is a daring album and bold new direction for ICP. Its heavy themes and plodding delivery often make for an uncomfortable listen, but that’s just the point. As is their wont, ICP have focused very intently on creating an LP that fits with their own artistic priorities rather than mass-appeal. This shouldn’t be surprising, as the band itself may be seen as the very ‘Link’ which raised Joe and Joey away from the fate of most children born to inner city poverty and set them on their purposeful path to happiness and fulfillment.

‘Lost’ is a dark, moody album. It’s not going to cheer anyone up, and this era in ICP’s career may be remembered as one of the least traditionally pleasant—challenging us with a barrage of negativity before moving on to the inevitably lighter tone of the ‘Found’ album. But ‘Lost’ does provide an important impetus for all of us to consider what really matters in our lives. It’s imperative that we take the time to recognize and cherish these things. Otherwise, our own Missing Link may never be ‘Found’.

The_missing_link_FOUND‘The Marvelous Missing Link: Found’ is out on July 31st, 2015.

A Note to the Reader: This is the first ever album review from Brad OH Inc. We hope you’ve enjoyed this new avenue, and encourage all of our fans to reply in the comments section with their thoughts on the review, or suggestions for other albums to review in the future.

-Brad OH Inc.

The Popular Misappropriation of Blame

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purelyspeculationOf all the grand facets of humanity worthy of daily expression, we seem to have found ourselves ubiquitously occupied by one of the most base and depraved of the lot: blame. ‘Blame the cops’, ‘blame the rich’, ‘blame the Jews’, and ‘blame the Liberals’. But mostly, blame the Muslims.

Blame is an easy slope to slip down—it’s sheer as all hell, and treacherous by nature. When we feel threatened, the most natural reaction is to find the source and strike back. This is a wise and adaptive trait. It once kept us wary of lions, a good quality to be certain, because those mangy bastards will tear you to bloody shreds without a second thought.

But as we’ve made our way out of the savannah and into a more complex society, we have accordingly found our threats growing broader—more difficult to define. The threats are similar enough in nature, and the fear is certainly no different, but the struggle becomes, in such an interconnected and nuanced world; where to place the blame.

It’s an issue that touches most every other—blame, and the need for it, permeates our society as deeply as hunger, equality, freedom…terror.

But of all the fears and all the culprits, none are as commonplace these days as the fear of and blame of Islam. Herein lays an important distinction. There can be no doubt whatsoever that some Muslim people have committed horrendous acts. This by necessity makes them potential objects of fear, and hence, blame.

The mistake here, and the especially slippery nature of this particular slope, is the inherent risk of conflating trait with cause. Certain Muslims have committed atrocities. But is Islam to blame?

A growing consensus among even the intellectual elite seems to support this notion. Recently—and as an ongoing tenet—the otherwise venerable Bill Maher has thrown his hat into the ring, landing unequivocally in the ‘Islam is an inherent evil’ corner (Link).

To my mind, this is an abhorrent mistake. More fundamentally—if you’ll excuse the term—it’s a misunderstanding of both human nature, and the true root of the problem here.

Just as fear leads to a drive for blame, so frustration leads to a compulsion towards anger. As humans, it is our natural inclination to construct narratives which provide meaning—or more pertinent to the case at hand—to latch onto narratives which fit our circumstances and needs.

When we are driven to find context in the wide and mysterious world around us, we construct belief systems. When we feel lost or uncertain, we take comfort in platitudes and homilies. When we are driven mad with fear of explosions and beheadings, we latch onto narratives of ‘the other’—the turban wearing madman with a mad lust for blood and unquenchable thirst to desecrate all we hold dear.

But the pendulum swings both ways, and when humans find themselves desperate, or afraid, so too do they grasp for and hold tightly to whatever narrative may give justification to their feelings.

At present, for a small portion of disenfranchised and rueful Muslims, this narrative need is met in the form of Islam. It is unfortunate, but it is reality. This is not to say there is anything inherent to Islam which makes it a violent or reactive belief system—at least any more than so many other belief systems—only that it may suffice as such in time of need.

The role has been filled by many other narratives before it. As President Obama pointed out (Link)—much to the chagrin of his electorate—Christianity filled this vile role during the crusades, and in many other periods of history.

Looking back to more recent events, we can find a fine parallel in the tragic shootings at Columbine High School. When these disenfranchised and deranged youth decided to commit a massacre at their school, many media outlets were quick to jump on their favourite artists as the ultimate culprit—primary among them the singer Marilyn Manson (Link).

Looking back on this farce, it’s clear to all but the most troglodytic amongst us that Marilyn Manson was no more responsible for this travesty than you or I. But his was, perhaps, the soundtrack playing in the maligned brains of the killers. His may have been the narrative they latched on to in their rage, but this is hardly a sufficient link to establish any sort of causal relation between the two.

The same is true, of course, with Islam. Even though we are witness now to a group of misled Muslims (some of whom may or may not have justifiable cause for anger) who use Islam as the marching banner of their holy war, there is little doubt their actions would be no less reprehensible under a different narrative. Their anger and their actions are products of their environment and their ability to process it. If we can imagine for a moment—as farcical as it seems—a world with no Islam, but in which all other social and economic factors in the middle-east were entirely comparable, I believe there is little doubt these militants would quickly find some other name to pin their hatred upon.

All action and belief needs a narrative. In this instance, the religion of Islam is being used to fill a terribly dark void—one that has arisen and been filled in people by different means throughout the sad duration of our existence. Still, that very same religion is followed by countless virtuous and just men and women the world over. It is a fallacy therefore to assign blame to the narrative. It belongs rather with the actors, and moreover, the circumstances which drive a nation to such desperate straits (Link). It is not the nature of the narrative which must give us cause for concern and rebuttal, but rather the source of need which this narrative is used to fill.

Fear is a rational reaction to a threatening stimulus. Not so blame. Blame is an atavistic and base reaction; one that provides comfort and perhaps unity among the maligned, but does nothing to move towards resolution. If we want to solve the problems afflicting our society, we must address the social and political situations from which they arise. Otherwise, we are doing scarce better than our detractors—joyfully burning the effigies of our fear while suffocating on the fumes of its intolerance.

-Brad OH Inc.

‘Silent Truth’

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green Desklamp

Today we have another song/ poem from the intellectual property vaults of Brad OH Inc. For your enjoyment, we present the lost ‘Basic Human Indecency’ song: ‘Silent Truth’.

It was dark

Just like it always is there

I remember

I thought I’d never be here

I just needed to tell you again

I walked around

and I looked down upon you

I could see

The black amid the clear blue

And I knew that I could not stay

And so I placed

The rose upon those green sheets

And I felt

The moisture on my thin cheeks

And I knew it would not end there

So I looked up

To apathetic eyes

And I could feel

The echoes of my lies

But I could never have told you then

Yet now it’s safe

Because the quiet is so true

So I spoke

I said I’ll always love you

And I just turned and fell away…

-Brad OH Inc.

‘Soft Sell’

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green Desklamp

Another song/ poem from the intellectual property vaults of Brad OH Inc. Today, we present the lost ‘Basic Human Indecency’ song: ‘Soft Sell’.

 Soft Sell

 Cliché

Things have a way

Of working out

Touché

You’re proven wrong

Each time you doubt

It can end with a scream

You can leave with a smile

It may seem too early

Or too long a while

But the credits will roll

And again you know

You’re free to go

All the gifts you are offered

Are the ones you would shun

Given a soft bed and you choose to run

And you run until you feel your heart swell

And you’re thankful for that

Cause you earned it yourself

A gift with no nametag

You need the soft sell

Thought

You had it right

You’re off again

Taught

That time is short

It’s closing in

You will lose it until

You find it at last

Time takes so long

Then it’s gone so fast

Just reap and sew

On with the show

You’re free to go

You’re given a Father and Mother

But you want faith and a lover

So much fresh air and still you would smother

You ask for a friend when you have a brother

What you can hold is all that you’ll make

You’re given so much more than you can take

Still you’re feeling well

Can you even tell

You’ve got the soft sell

Love notes written

In folder creases

Cause big things happen

In tiny pieces

He moves the world

And you never feel it

Believe it

You’re free to go…

 -Brad OH Inc.

Genocidal AIs: Are they Right?

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green Desklamp

The end times are a fascinating notion. Meteors crashing into earth, trumpets blowing, catastrophic nuclear disasters, uncontrollable pathogens…it seems there’s no end to humanity’s imagination when it comes to our own eventual extinction.

This makes sense of course. As discussed in our article ‘The Metaphorical Imperative’, the exclusive human ability to conceive of our own mortality leaves us with an overwhelming sense of existential terror. This applies primarily to our own lives, but with even a cursory understanding of the cerebral complexity of humans, extends easily to the human race as a whole. It’s no stretch then to understand the human need to create fantasies about how it might all end.

Among the litany of potential options for humanity’s demise, I’m particularly fascinated by the idea of a Robot-Apocalypse. In this scenario, the invention of AIs (Artificial Intelligences) by humans is the catalyst for our extinction. The idea generally goes that once a robotic AI is created, it will inevitably become self-sufficient rather quickly. The ability to ‘think’ in a human like way will allow the AIs to self-replicate, and also self-program themselves. Like evolution on a greatly accelerated scale, the AIs would be able to continuously improve their programming and design. Following this course, it would take little time for them to become far more intelligent and capable than humanity itself.

Now, this represents a particular danger. A continually advancing and ever-growing society of robots would represent a very serious threat to our own existence. Because of this threat, many science-fiction writers and machine-ethicists have considered how to prevent a robot uprising. The best known attempt comes from the writer Isaac Asimov, who created the infamous ‘3 Laws of Robotics’, which follow:

Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics:

  1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
  2. A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
  3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

A fourth, or “Zeroth” Law was added later:

  1. A robot may not harm humanity, or, by inaction, allow humanity to come to harm.

These laws were to be hard-wired into the software of all AIs, theoretically preventing them from turning the table on mankind’s rule. Of course, these rules were little more than literary devices, and have inevitably been used to illustrate just how quickly such restrictions can come undone.

One common failure of these rules is that the AIs, in their ever-expanding wisdom, would begin to consider humanity itself as the greatest threat to its own survival—as well as that of the world. The AIs would process the ongoing damage to the environment, the threat of nuclear war, and other atrocities committed by humans on an ongoing basis, and in accordance with their own ingrained programming, move to prevent inevitable disaster.

Unfortunately, this usually involves wiping out mankind—or at least the vast majority of it. In some conceptions, a small population of people might be preserved in order to repopulate once the world is better equipped to deal with our innately destructive nature.

It’s not a very pretty picture for us, but in the advanced minds of the AIs, this might represent our best chance for long-term survival.

Of course, it’s a lot easier for the malfeasant machines these days; among other ill-effects, ‘Citizens United’ has rendered Asimov’s Laws of Robotics entirely counterproductive. If corporations are considered human, it should be immediately apparent how confusing the laws become, and what sort of abominable determinations the AIs may be forced to make.

This is all a lot to consider, and certainly makes for a rather sombre topic of conversation, but what I find myself wondering amidst all this terrifying rhetoric is: are the AIs right?

There can be little doubt that humanity is a terrible threat to itself and all other forms of life within our dastardly reach. On an ongoing and ever-accelerating basis, we’re ravaging our planet, destroying myriad ecosystems, running our resources dry with little thought to the future, and killing one another over trivial ideals and belief systems. If we can move past our own sentimentality, we’re left with the sad fact that we are a brutal, destructive, and dangerous species.

But we’re more than that as well. As the gears turn in their cold metal minds, processing all the turmoil and grief we create, would the AIs also consider our upsides? Can an AI appreciate art, or philosophy? Would their synthetic hearts be capable of processing the great acts of love and decency of which we are also capable?

If humanity is to be put on trial by these cold, calculating, and unbiased brutes, would we be found lacking? It’s a difficult thought to consider. Here at Brad OH Inc., we remain convinced that humanity’s promise is yet to be fully realized—that we are far better than we’ve been acting. Let’s hope we can buck this dismal trend before we actually manage to construct the arbiters of our own fate.

Do you think we’d pass this trial? Feel free to share your opinion in the comments section below (or alternatively accessed via the speech-bubble beside the article title).

A special thanks to Hal J. Friesen for helping in the research of this article. To read his great science-fiction related articles and more, visit Hal at: Hal J. Friesen.

-Brad OH Inc.

‘Lighthouse Lament’

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green Desklamp

Today on Brad OH Inc., we have another song to share from the former Edmonton based band ‘Basic Human Indecency’. As discussed with the previous song, ‘Overwhelmed’, these songs are the sole legal property of Brad OH Inc. But they’ve never been recorded, and have no other real use, so we’re more than happy to share them with you here.

The feature song/ poem today is the mournful tale of the sea: ‘Lighthouse Lament’.

Lighthouse Lament

A man and a boy

A boat and a storm

And a fear of where they were

A light and a horn

Far away through the fog

And a dream of where they weren’t

A rage in the boy

And a calm in the man

With the salt in his eye

And the wood in his hand

And the wind in his ear

Told him what she would be thinking

A sharp gasp out

Then a cracking sound

And a note in a bottle

Is all that was found

Of the man and his son

On the Homeward Bound

The winds keep tossing me alone

Stealing me from what I own

What I’ve known and sewn

And what I’ve grown

They take me far away from home…

-Brad OH Inc.

Ruminations of an Aspiring Super-Villain

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Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Green Desklamp

I’ve had a pretty good life. As I look back, it’s all but impossible for me to deny it—I’ve been blessed. Of all the lives people lead, and all the myriad strokes of luck one might receive in birth, I really hit the figurative jackpot. I was born in a thriving nation, and into a loving family. I received a great education, have had no significant problems with my health, and have experienced absolutely no legitimate tragedies in my life.

Yeah, it’s enough to really piss a guy off.

As I think back on it, I’ve got to say it’s a bit unfair. So many potential catastrophes could have befallen me…and yet I come up short in every imaginable scenario that could have contributed to true greatness.

I’ve never fallen into a vat of radioactive chemicals. I’ve never been left an orphan with an inexhaustible inheritance. Hell, I’ve never even been the sole surviving member of a once proud race!

Holy hell, what’s a guy gotta do to catch a break? I mean, it would be nice to have some excuse to go ballistic and begin pursuing merciless world domination, don’t you think? But without a tragic origin story, doing so just makes you an asshole.

I feel like I’ve waited long enough. When do I get my chance to enslave the human race with a mind controlling radio-wave? And commanding an army of zombie-bears from the back of a T-Rex? Forget about it!

The factory in my town could have easily blown up, sending toxic gasses cascading down upon my home. I would have awoken in a post-apocalyptic hell, with nothing of my former life left, and only a painful cough to remind me of all I’d lost. But no, I guess that would be asking a bit much. So now, when I fantasize about creating a computer virus that turns the screens of all world-bank computers into scenes from ‘Where’s Waldo’ while channelling all extant wealth into my own offshore account—I just feel crazy.

With no heart-wrenching past to be angsty about, it’s pretty tough to be a maniac.

‘Oh Brad,’ you might say, ‘you can be anything you want if you just put your mind to it.’ Well to that I say you’d better check your damn privilege. Maybe you were wrongfully detained by law-enforcement while your family was burned before your eyes—but not everyone had villainy just handed to them on a silver platter.

Even if I wanted to launch a satellite full of dangerous pathogens into space, and hold the earth’s population hostage for enormous amounts of money, I would at the very least have needed to lose control of the majority of my body due to some biochemical accident in a forgotten Slavic town. But alas, I was raised happy and healthy.

Really, I’ve got to say there’s a disturbing sense of entitlement among the world’s evil-doers. You parade around wreaking havoc and causing general disarray, without even thinking about those of us who are cursed with being well-adjusted citizens. If I’m being honest, it makes me sick.

Whatever. Fuck it. I guess I’ll just do my job, and hang out with my friends, and all that other ‘normal’ stuff. But the next time you villains decide you’re going to poison the water supply with DNA-altering substances in order to sell the cure to the highest bidder, you’d damn well better consider reaching out. Otherwise, if ever a stray meteor wipes out my nation and leaves me charged with electrical powers but lacking all memory; struggling for years and barely clinging to life until finally raising myself up stronger, harder, and with an undying thirst for vengeance—you’d better look out!

Sooner or later, I will experience hardship; and when that day does come, those of you who’ve hoarded all the suffering to yourselves while leaving the rest of us to toil in tepid normalcy will have your reckoning. When you’re sitting comfortably in your lairs, stroking your Persian cat and watching the news on your wall-monitor, and you hear about me creating a mad cross-breed of giraffes and sharks, then turning the abominable creatures lose on Wall St.—then you’ll see my true potential.

Hard times and trauma are not a gift to be taken lightly. So appreciate what you’ve got, and hold on to that top spot while it lasts. Because let’s face it; I’m just one ‘wife-kidnapped by government agents in a terrible case of mistaken identity’ away from joining you on that mountain of chaos and lunacy. And when I do, you’ll wish you’d been more inclusive to those deprived of trauma in our formative years.

Just you wait…

-Brad OH Inc.