‘Open and Close’

Posted on March 1, 2015 by Brad Oates

Under the Green Desk Lamp…

We’ve been getting some pretty great mileage out of our legal acquisition of the songs by former Edmonton band ‘Basic Human Indecency’, so naturally, we thought we’d continue with that trend.

Today’s song was the intended closer to the ‘Basic Human Indecency’ album that never was: ‘Open and Close’.

Open and Close

I’m not the first to sing this song

It’s been written for so long

To claim that we are strong

To admit when we are wrong

To wander when we’re lonely

I saw a star fall from the sky

There was no second try

You heard the last goodbye

Danced the rest out in a lie

And put it in a sad song

Another door slammed shut today

You watched her walk away

Thought what you would never say

Reason enough to pray

Once again you’ve lost your meaning

You make the sounds when you’re alone

The rushing crowd you’re on your own

You pick the pieces of your home

Out from the Gods that you have known

And say you do it for the last time…

-Brad OH Inc.

Profits and Prophets

Posted on January 25, 2015 by Brad Oates

Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Words are powerful things. They are our chief means of communication—assuming you can move past all that ‘body-language’ mumbo-jumbo—and thus serve as our key to expressing all ideas, plans, and opinions about the world around us. They allow us to apply labels, transfer knowledge, and express complex concepts to one another—passing information along and allowing it to grow across generations.

Words are the building blocks of language. They afford to us the ability not only to share our thoughts with one another—but to comprehend them ourselves. They apply meaning and value in a world of chaos; functioning to give context and relevance to what may otherwise be inconceivable. In an earlier article, we’ve actually covered how intangible it is to consider a world ‘Without Words’.

Words have the ability to convey great and terrible concepts—elevating us above the mire, or dragging us to the depths of despair. In this strange world or ours, there are even words which are considered too heavy to be spoken, whether because they are revered as sacrosanct, or reviled as curses.

Lately, there are two words in particular which have been troubling me. They are phonetic-twins: identical save for their spelling, and their meanings too have become all too dangerously similar. These are ‘profit’, and ‘prophet’.

Profits refer to the net gains made by an institution: usually monetary. In times like these, with corporations pulling the reins of government, and the media touting the notion that true ‘freedom’ is for the marketplace alone, profits have become the apple to the wild horses trampling all good sense and civility from our society.

Citizen interests are sold out for profits. Veterans are left homeless for profits. People suffer and die without healthcare in defense of the all-mighty profit-margin. Profits, profits, profits. They’ve become the sole respectable merit, and the defining drive of a corporate machine racing driverless, determined only to see how far it can go, how long it can persist. It seeks profit, and any destruction caused in this pursuit is justified so long as it has no effect on the net-gains.

We’re often reminded of what is owed to us: this illusive promise of life, liberty, and happiness. Of course, we are further assured, money cannot buy happiness. So it’s up to us to find on our own…just keep your hands off the profits.

Prophets are those people considered to speak in place of god or any other deity—often via divine inspiration. Like our recent discussion on the ‘Insidious Threat of Legacy’, prophets often represent an increasing distance from the so-called source material, and too often become cited as justifications for acts of violence and other atrocities which can in no other way be reconciled with their foundational beliefs.

It’s as prevalent a threat today as it ever has been.

Wars are waged in the name of prophets. Buildings are toppled in reverence to prophets. Ongoing conflicts over which prophet is to be trusted and which to be eschewed continue to enable the endless global uncertainty to which we are all subject.

Profits, and prophets—they aren’t so different in the end.

Both represent the false ideals of a misguided population. A life led in reverence only to that which can be gained; a sacrifice of ideals in order to defend the sanctity of a decaying value structure. Many religious communities seem to have turned away from worship of their actual gods, and are defined now by strict adherence to the prophets who have interpreted them. So too the governments of the world—who have turned away from their true purpose of protecting their state and citizens—wooed by the unscrupulous practices of corporate lobbyists who promise to redefine the national priorities.

How can these threats be rectified? If profits are not the only sufficient motivator for directing the course of society, and if prophets have proven an insufficient source of moral guidance, then where are we to turn?

If the value of profit is in what it can accomplish, and the value of prophets is in the ideals they represent, then perhaps chasing these equally-listless sources is the wrong approach entirely. Here at Brad OH Inc., we would encourage everyone to take some time to consider the foundation beneath each of these—and that is value.

What really matters to you? If you had all the profits in the world at your disposal, what would you make of them? If you could speak as a prophet to the people, what wisdom might you impart? If you are honest with yourselves, we believe you’ll find the answers are not so dissimilar. More importantly, and herein lies the essence of the issue—you may find that both profits and prophets are red-herrings, distracting us from what true happiness might already be available to us, if only we can disavow ourselves of these tired and misaligned notions.

-Brad OH Inc.

The Metaphorical Imperative Revisited

Posted on November 2, 2014 by Brad Oates

Under the Green Desk Lamp…

In our last article, ‘Without Words’ we reflected on the idea of what the world would be like without the vocabulary to define it. The concept was an interesting one to write about and consider; ultimately, it got us thinking back on another article we wrote, ‘The Metaphorical Imperative’.

The Metaphorical Imperative, for those who don’t recall, was a notion we explored about the source of and meaning behind creativity. In a nutshell, the idea is that as human beings evolved and our cerebral capacity expanded, the ability to question our world or ask ‘why’ would have appeared around the same time as the ability to use abstract conjecture to answer the question. These activities are certainly tied to language, although they need not be defined by it. Still, for the purposes of this article, we will take articulated thought as the base point for our considerations.

The fundamental assertion behind the concept of ‘The Metaphorical Imperative’ is that if humans owe any reverence or thanks for their current state, we owe it to the incredible work of evolutionary architecture that is our own minds—not to any god, devil, or undefined miscreant in between.

The need for existential reassurance, the fear of death, and the question of what we are and why we are here; these are all the direct products of a brain grown sufficiently complex to wrestle with such abstractions, and this alone is more miraculous and better cause for celebration than any story I’ve read in a holy book.

But that leads us to the next point. If our ability to ask questions is a miracle, what can be aid of our ability to create the answers for them?

Metaphor is the abstract use of one object to find or create meaning in another. If abstract thought is the impetus for asking ‘why’, then the tool for answering it is metaphor. My contention is that these abilities would have evolved in relatively close proximity to one another, representing a true ‘awakening’ of humanity.

If we are to discuss metaphor and meaning, we might as well start with one of the most famous—and central to our current topic. In the Garden of Eden, it’s said that Eve (that reckless upstart) ate from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, and thus doomed mankind forever.

Thanks a lot, Eve.

I find an interesting parallel in this. This fruit, the ‘knowledge of good and evil’ which caused mankind’s fall from innocence, is symbolically comparable to the notion of the Metaphorical Imperative, in which we gain both the ability to question our nature, and the skill to fashion suitable answers.

But it’s really the answers that interest me here; the nourishing apples to the terrible hunger of ennui. Via our ability to create meaning, the human race has tapped into our most fundamental and defining abilities: creation, art, and belief.

The power of this ability might be observed most directly in expressions such as organized religion, whose depth of belief has inspired acts of miraculous empathy and terrible cruelty. But the power of metaphor isn’t limited to religion alone. Any story—TV shows, books movies, video games—has the power through metaphor to provide just as much as religion to anyone with the ability to relate to it on a personal or psychological level.

Stories are the foundation of all culture; ideas, philosophy, art and religion, the fundamental basis of humanity can be defined as the ability to dream things up in a way they are not.

There are no exceptions. Whether it’s sports, gods, science-fiction, or science alone, everyone places their trust in some grand idea, anchoring their hopes and aspirations to some intangible notion that rings true to them.

Luke Skywalker, Aragorn, The New Orleans Saints, Zen Buddhism, Zeus and Allah and Jesus, all the angels in heaven and demons in hell have sprung from this one key human drive. All art is the product of the metaphorical imperative, and stands as testament to everything which makes us human.

But here an important consideration arises in our series of metaphors. If, as suggested earlier, this key drive which makes us human (for both good and ill) was represented as the great deception of the devil in the garden, then perhaps all artists are in fact worshipping the devil.

Perhaps the development of consciousness and desire in humans was an accident—a random fluke forever changing the course of our species. No doubt we would have existed in perfect harmony with our environment if we’d never developed the capacity to believe we are separate or better.

Maybe it’s a good thing, and maybe not. But although this cerebral capacity has led to great pain and suffering throughout history, I refuse to believe it is not also the thing which will see us to what we need to become. Creation and metaphor, for all our missteps, define us as the beautiful, shining bastards we are, and will someday show us just how incredible we can truly be.

All we need to find is the right story.

-Brad OH Inc.

Without Words

Posted on October 26, 2014 by Brad Oates

Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Among the many blessings inherent to being a writer, paramount among them is the gift of always having the right word for a given occasion. Any writer—and even well-read non-writers—knows the thrill of pulling out some million-dollar word that so perfectly encapsulates your predicament it seems made just for the occasion. But recently, I found myself wondering just what sort of blessing this is, and whether with every proud smile and impressed friend that comes with knowing how to effectively articulate some miniscule event, some greater thrill may be lost.

What would the world be like without words?

Not many know—and those that do would certainly have a difficult time expressing it. It’s a primal sort of idea, hearkening back to cold days huddled around small fires on the plains of the savannah; gazing with inexpressible unease into the encroaching dark.

Sitting at that fire, you might feel the cold creeping into your bones, and with no words for why, toss another handful of sticks onto the glowing coals of your salvation. The flames would lick up; tiny firefly sparks sailing up into the boundless night sky to get lost among the countless, brilliant stars that watch you each night from above as the wolves watch from below.

The heat would swell, pushing back the creeping chill of night in its eternal yet ultimately futile battle. You might smile, and your head would swim with the wonder of it all. You would understand the connections and worship the results, but you’d have no words for the meaning behind it. A smile would have to suffice.

The next day would find you rested and warm, the sun back again, reliable as ever, chasing away the nameless demons of night and promising again that the familiar cycle would continue. And you would be glad.

There would be no words for the joy that day brings, nor the trepidation you might feel when the thunder clouds roll in, covering up the sun and threatening with their deep voices to tear the sky asunder.

With all the terrible fury of an unimagined god they would come, beating down with rain and hail from above, and shattering the mountaintops with flashes of authority beyond description.

Imagine then the relief when they passed, and again the world returned to normal—like it always did. Imagine the thrill of security and the reassuring surge of faith in your pounding heart: imagine it all without words.

So too would every waking moment be defined by such wonder. In the world we live in now—there are words for everything, even if at times many seem to fall so pitifully short.

Without words, how confounding would be ideas like hate, and love, and grief. Without a means of expressing them, how could we ever let go of that which hurt or hallowed us. All would be reduced to the guttural screams of terror or triumph; communication shackled to the hair-tearing passions of inarticulate isolation.

With no weather systems or science or writing, the world would be an unpredictable place of magic and mania—and every turn would bring some uplifting new idea which would lie stillborn on lips incapable of giving them birth.

It’s a marvellous but inaccessible idea. I think about it a lot, and slide every time down an unspeakable precipice of wonder and nostalgia, as if touching by proxy upon the culturally inherited passions we all share in our ancient past. It fills me with an incredible sense of awe, but each time I’m moved to encapsulate the extent of such feelings, I find sadly that I am without words.

-Brad OH Inc.

A Question of Police Responsibility

Posted on October 12, 2014 by Brad Oates

It seems a man can’t go online today without reading about another shameful clash between the police and the citizens they are sworn to protect. The over-the-top crackdowns on peaceful protests like Occupy Wall St. in New York City are just one example of the chilling trend facing today’s citizens. It’s a facet of daily living now for anyone paying attention—we’ve even covered the issue before in our Single Serving Story- ‘Of Pipers and Pigs’.

More and more each day, police are responding to peaceful demonstrations with violence, illegal detainments, and intimidation. It’s difficult to imagine reading about any political demonstration these days without just assuming the inevitable conclusion. People gather to express their opinions and values in a public forum; they may march, they may sit, there’s probably the occasionally song sang or pot banged. Then they come—the police roll in with automatic weapons and tactical response vehicles; cracking heads, illegally arresting innocent citizens, and pepper-spraying people at close range. The documented abuses of power seem to go on without end (Source).

But what is to be said of the men and women wearing the badges? Off duty, they walk those same streets, shop at those same stores, and are affected by those same issues. How is it that a badge, a uniform, and a gun can draw such a harsh distinction between ordinary people?

Clichés and disparaging stereotypes aside, I believe it’s fair to say that a significant proportion of police officers get into such a line of work because they care: about their communities, about the people in them, and about the general values and safety of the society they too occupy. After all, it wasn’t so long ago that we could all feel some hint of pride and protection when we looked upon one of the ‘boys in blue’.

But it isn’t blue anymore, is it?

On Aug. 9^th, 2014, the shooting of Michael Brown by Officer Darren Wilson led to significant protesting and calls for justice across the suburb of Ferguson, Missouri. The police response was heinous; men in camouflage, armed with all manner of deadly weapons and riding in tactical response vehicles swept through and terrorized the neighbourhood (Source). To an untrained eye, it would be impossible to tell if this was the response of a local police force or an invading army: and that’s a significant problem.

The increasingly militarized appearance of local police forces is the result in part of the dangerous and irresponsible ‘1033 Program’—part of the Disposition Services of the Defense Logistics Agency (DLA) (Source). The purpose of this program is to transfer surplus military hardware from the army to local law enforcement agencies. The result is that small law enforcement offices around the country are being supplied with military grade tools—technology designed to destabilize and control foreign militants is being deployed against the very citizens it was designed to protect.

Now, take a breath and clear your head. A rational thinker might interject here, insisting that this equipment would be held in reserve in case of a dire local threat—such as a terrorist strike, or perhaps the unsolicited landing of a foreign offence force in some small shit-town in mid-west America. But if we look closer at the agreement between the DLA and participatory states, we’ll find that one of the clauses agreed to is that the military equipment be put into use within one year, or returned (Source).

Clearly, this puts a dangerous expectation on the police officers in these communities. If the equipment has to be used within a year, the difficult job befalling them is finding a way to use it. This involves selecting a group of citizens to use this equipment on, as well as some excuse to do so. The result is that these tactical vehicles and dangerous weapons are showing up for duties of crowd control, warrant searches, and notably, against people of colour in 58% of cases.

Here, we see a growing divide between the general citizenry and the officers sworn to protect them. The ongoing process of militarization, and government pressures to use such alarming equipment against its people, serves to ramp this tension up to 11; and a veritable pressure cooker for impending disaster.

The quote has been going around for a while now, but that makes it no less fitting. The words of Commander William Adama, of Battlestar Galactica, echo the situation with prophetic accuracy:

“There’s a reason you separate military and the police. One fights the enemies of the state, the other serves and protects the people. When the military becomes both, then the enemies of the state tend to become the people.”

-Commander William Adama, Battlestar Galactica.

Another key issue factoring into this divide is the skewed demographics of police forces. In order to serve effectively, a police force must be seen not only as representative of its district, but also as able to identify with the specific needs and values of its community. Sadly, this is seldom the case. In the example of Ferguson, 6% of police officers were African-American—and this in a community where 67% of the citizens are African-American (Source).

This separation between police and community is strengthened by the execution of overtly unfair laws, such as the Civil Forfeiture practice, which allows possessions to be seized from citizens and sold for the profit of the police force with no trial whatsoever (Source).

It’s a pretty dismal picture, but what exactly is the driving force behind these startling trends? Whether the militarization of police forces is motivated by the so-called ‘war on drugs’, as claimed at the onset of the program (Source), by the goal of counter-terrorism, or simply to continue lining the pockets of America’s Arms distributors (Link), who’s to say? The real question is, just what is to be done about it?

The police, in this strange position of paramilitary, anti-citizenry force, certainly make for an easy target—and that in spite of their camouflage. But a police force is an undeniably important facet of any functioning society, no matter how utopian the goals may be. If you imagine a world without cops as an equitable paradise of peace and prosperity, I fear you are not sufficiently acquainted with humanity.

One thing that’s clear is that something needs to change. If history is any indicator however, holding our breath for the government to enact legislation in favor of the people—and against corporate interests—will mean we won’t be long for this earth. So what can change then?

Ultimately, the duty falls upon the men and women wearing the badges. Upon taking such a position, these people are duty bound to serve the best interests of the citizenry in their jurisdiction. That duty has become increasingly difficult as the militarization effort continues, and police forces which fail to represent their district only obfuscate the problem further.

The egregious errors that have been made were strongly influenced by the current system, and while there certainly needs to be accountability on that front, I am more concerned with the personal responsibility of all who wear the uniform. When in the line of duty, there must be a sense of ethics operating beneath the badge—and a conscious consideration of whether the duties imposed on them are truly the sort of activity they signed up for.

We must count on the strength of character in these good men and women, and hope it proves sufficient to see them through in situations so inundated with uncertainty. The fact that this distinction must be made is a damning sign of the times, but we must now call upon all police officers to act with wisdom and empathy for those they protect; not simply because of their badge, but perhaps in spite of it.

-Brad OH Inc.

On Internet Speak and the Decay of Culture

Posted on October 5, 2014 by Brad Oates

Under the Green Desklamp…

When I was just a young Corporate Person, amongst the greatest formative influences on my impressionable little mind were the writings of J.R.R. Tolkien. An interesting and little appreciated fact about Tolkien however is that he was not a writer by trade, but rather a linguistics scholar and professor of Old-English at the University of Oxford (Source).

It was his love of language, as well as his experiences in the trenches of WWI which informed his writing, and anyone familiar with his oeuvre will see the deep impact of his linguistic inclination etched into the very bones of Middle-earth.

Language is a powerful tool—one that defines our world and our relationships with others. In the article ‘The Metaphorical Imperative’, I expounded my idea about how the human ability for abstract thought, and the inherent search for meaning which naturally accompanies that ability, define us as animals. The combination provides us with an unending desire to explore and understand the world about us, while simultaneously giving us the tools to create answers to those very questions.

Language course is of an integral part of this equation. Our native language informs the way we interpret the world, and our thoughts are more-or-less bound by the linguistic constructs of the language or languages we speak.

Lately however, I feel a growing unease as I consider the direction that language is taking, and wonder about the implications this carries for society as a whole. I am referring to the decay of language easily evidenced by only a brief perusal of any internet message board or social network’s comments section. Obscure acronyms, lack of nuance, mutilated spellings, marred syntax, and a litany of other bastardizations of the English language will be the dominant form of expression almost anywhere you look.

It can become a depressing state of affairs, and if given sufficient consideration, might inspire in the reader a grave concern for the direction of society.

As a matter of context, let us consider the following scenario:

A young couple are out on their first date at an upscale Italian eatery. Shondra, 24, is a well-read academic hoping to find a stable partner as she starts out her own career. Ethan, 26, works from home, and spends the majority of his time honing his ‘memeing’ skills online. They sit now at a pristine table, a single candle providing ambiance in the dim room. Conversation buzzes all around them as diners enjoy their meal. Shondra and Ethan have just started their main course.

“Mmm, this pasta is really delicious,” says Shondra, a polite hand over her mouth as she finishes her initial helping of Chicken Linguini.

“Well, that’s just your opinion,” replies Ethan, shoveling another spoonful of Cannelloni into his mouth.

Shondra’s thinly drawn eyebrows furrow upon her pretty face. “That would be why I said it,” she replies. She isn’t entirely sure why Ethan felt motivated to highlight this fact, being that her voicing it obviated its being her opinion.

“Why do you say so?” She asks, hoping to gleam some deeper meaning from his statement of obvious facts.

“Because reasons,” Ethan answers, a wry smile on his face implying he felt this answer was both sufficient and witty. “Lol,” he finishes, as if to reinforce the embedded humour of this retort.

“So,” continues Shondra, undeterred by her mounting frustration. “What do you do in your downtime?”

Ethan flashes her a broad smile. “I like to RATIE all day.”

“Ratie?” Shondra asks, hoping Ethan might have some interesting new pastime with which she is as yet unacquainted.

“Yeah, Relax and take it Easy, duh.” Ethan sneers as he speaks, and forks another glob of pasta into his mouth. “This Cannelloni is amazing, its literally the best thing in the whole world.”

Shondra sighs. “Why didn’t you just say that, how could I have known that obscure acronym?

“And best thing in the world? I’m not sure you understand what ‘literally’ means.”

“I know right, how ironic!”

A tight frown mars Shondra’s pretty mouth. Suddenly, a gob of marinara sauce splatters into her face, causing her to howl in shock.

Ethan grins from ear to ear. “Trollololo!” He declares triumphantly.

Wiping it off with a fresh napkin, Shondra struggles to maintain her composure. “What the hell was that for?” She demands.

“YOLO,” comes Ethan’s response, “C’mon babe, I’ve got too much swag to have to justify myself, you need to calm down.”

“You’re acting like an ignorant cretin,” Shondra speaks in monotone.

“Cretin, more like epic, amirite?”

Shondra rises from the table now. “Ethan, this is clearly not going to work, I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” With that, she turns gracefully on her heel and makes her hasty exit.

Ethan is devastated. His mouth hangs open in shock, small drops of marinara falling down onto his ‘Affliction’ shirt. Setting his fork on the table, he sinks despondently down into his chair. “The feels…” he laments.

In this scene clearly, the stunted and overly specific language of the internet is entirely unfit for social situations. This is not the adaptive environment of such communication styles however, and due consideration must be given to where and when such conventions may be necessary.

For instance, being that online communication lacks the intonation inherent to verbal communication, some leeway may be given to the use of emoticons and clarifying abbreviations such as ‘j/k’ or ‘lol’.

Other conventions, such as the steadfast insistence on labelling every opinion as such no matter how obvious or redundant the label may be have arisen as a knee-jerk defenses to the volatile escalation so fostered in the anonymous confines of online communication.

Is this stylistic shift a hallmark of decaying culture and failing intellect, or is it a natural evolution of language resulting from our increasingly technological means of communicating, coupled with our busier schedules and lack of face-to-face contact?

Neither possibility should be dismissed out of hand. There can be little denial that language must evolve with the times. As new technologies and scientific or philosophical revelations change the way we view the world, language perforce needs to evolve in order to keep up.

So too with technologically driven changes in the way we communicate. Few would question the need to end a radio transmission with ‘over’, indicating to the other end that the line is now open for them to transmit.

Conversation over the internet is fundamentally different from other means of communication. It is detached, anonymous, and often responses come minutes, hours, or even days after the initial statement. With these challenges, the need for adaptive language is clear.

Still, many of the changes are hard to defend as strictly adaptive, and may be more so a product of the anonymity provided by online correspondence.

Is the internet becoming an unreadable mess? Is language and culture crumbling as people become less directly socially connected? Or is online communication actually an effective bridge between people, increasing social interaction—with language simply adapting to fit the needs of the new social environment?

What do you think? Please feel free to take up the discussion in the comments section—after all, ‘Divine Duty of Discourse’ is one of the 5 Central Commandments of The New Corporate Religion of Brad OH Inc.

-Brad OH Inc.

Bourbons by the Fire

Posted on September 28, 2014 by Brad Oates

Under the Green Desklamp…

There’s a bottle of bourbon in arm’s reach of my chair, and through the window in front of me I can see the last vestiges of the day’s light hanging on the horizon. It illuminates the glass like hot iron. It seems the sunsets last longer these days. Or it could perhaps be that, with each one that passes, that singular moment when the last ray of sun clings to the western sky lingers longer in the mind, with its promise that light will come again.

On nights like this, the dangers of thought far outweigh those of the bottle, and the intoxicating effect of knowledge brings a sickness far worse than any hangover imaginable. And so I have a drink.

It’s a strange time, a time when any decent person with an eye for details might come to suspect they are one of the few remaining sane souls left in a terribly dystopian world—the sort of world where little girls grow up dreaming of being heiresses.

These days, the heedless ambition of the powerful is to society as is cancer to the individual. It first gnaws at the extraneous, chipping away the small pleasures and devouring the variety of life, making all things secondary to its demands.

But like cancer it grows unchecked, consuming everything allowed to it until all that remains are memories of times that were better, when hope for a brighter future still blossomed in the hearts of those now disenfranchised by the voracious appetites of its expansion.

It’s a desperate time—the kind of time when great ideas tend to come along… or else when people will cling to the best idea they come across.

I take another drink, a long one. It’s warm going down my throat, and fire in the stomach—a slow, soothing sort of burn.

The sun is growing dimmer, and light and dark weigh heavy in my thoughts. They’re timeless concepts—forged into the spirit of our society by countless books, songs and films. For me it was Tolkien, but the sources are innumerable.

Sometimes when my mind wanders, it goes unbidden to dangerous places. There are times that I wonder where the decency of man has gone. We’ve all heard about it—that innate spark of light within all people, destined with only the slightest encouragement to guide us from the ever encroaching darkness.

It’s getting darker.

We are but monkeys grown beyond our means. We make up stories, and bow before them to reckon ourselves to the fact that we are raised with a terrifying capacity for evil, yet maintain a gentle compulsion for good.

It’s not an easy understanding to bear, and the more you know, the madder you go.

I can see how it happens, how you can get lost within your mind. You chase some dream, and at first it dances about the edges, enticing you to believe you might catch it and make it true. But it leads, and you chase. Like a boy following a rabbit into the forest, you pursue it until you lose the trail. Then you look around to realize you’ve lost your own as well. You are left with no clue where on earth you are… or worse still, you’re not sure you remember who you are.

A man needs to fight against it, that infernal apathy. It’ll set in and boil, and pretty soon even the most casual of social encounters will feel like ships passing in the night fog.

Again, the bourbon soothes my thoughts.

What is a man to do? That’s the question that keeps bouncing around my head as my fingers rest limply on my keyboard. People often think I’m multi-layered, but the truth is I’m just multi-talented. This is my weapon—the written word is like a Lego set for smart people, and the destructive potential it can harness is a terrible thing to behold.

People glue themselves to reality programs, fixating on fictional calamities as their government is looted by faceless Corporations and their inalienable rights are stripped away like the clothes of a drunken debutante in a dingy frat house.

This is the reality allotted to us, and it’s difficult to blame the cowards for looking away and leaving it for the next generation. It’s a defense mechanism rooted deeply in our DNA.

With a web as intricate as this, no answers are clear, and even the most optimistic zealot can find himself lost in the chaos around him. But one must not avoid doing right for fear that the devil has deceived them into doing wrong, or else surely he has.

I grit my teeth and crack my knuckles. They’re stiff, and the flesh is dry and cracked. Have I grown this old in so short a time?

Everyone else is smiling, and a cheery voice on a television to my right tells me that quick and harsh punishment will come to the foreigners who object to our imperialistic agenda.

A cheer rises up—on the television to my left, a touchdown has been scored.

Godforsaken idiots.

My mind drifts again to the tales of my youth, and the things they promised: ages of miracles, and the certain defeat of darkness. It always took until the last moment—when hope held on by the thinnest thread. That’s when delivery always came, when people woke up to their innate power to change the world, and made real the paradise they cradled secretly in their hearts.

The sun is down now, the window dull and translucent once more. Outside, neon ads flash, telling me it’s time to buy a new phone. Then everything will be ok.

Darkness has always been our nature. It doesn’t need to be forceful, for it can grow at any time, and is capable of overtaking us and condemning us to savagery whenever we let down our guard.

The light within is different. It flickers perilously, and I’ve heard it said that once it’s out, it’s out. It may dwindle, imperceptible at times, yet it’s driven ever towards great good and kindness.

Sometimes we must squint to even detect it, yet in dark times like these, it is the thing we must search for the most earnestly, and count on for deliverance.

This is an active process.

Few things truly raise my ire, but the depthless greed and thoughtless destruction wrought by the heedless empowered lights a righteous fury deep in my bones.

There’s music playing somewhere, but I can’t catch the tune. My head swims under the drink, but I’m not confused. It’s certainty that drags my mood down, and the refusal to close my eyes to that which surrounds me. An unfailing belief moves my fingers now, and their clatter upon the keys pounds out a drumbeat all my own.

It’s short and simple. Its rhythm churns like a locomotive, driving itself on by necessity. It says that we must return to decency. It proclaims that glib cynicism and ironic detachment are the tools of cowards, and that making a joke of the night is the surest way to get lost in the dark. Above all, it wails that even under the guise of freedom—callousness and selfish greed must not be the fundamental underpinnings of our society.

If you don’t hold to that, know that you have an enemy in Brad OH Inc.

I take another drink, and the comforting warmth brings a smile to my tired face.

-Brad OH Inc.

The Metaphorical Imperative

Posted on April 21, 2013 by Brad Oates

Under the Green Desk Lamp…

Here at Brad OH Inc., I’m often asked why I write. Certainly, it’s a difficult question to answer. For me, pleasure would be one acceptable response—whether it’s my own, or that of the visitors who read and enjoy what I’ve written—both are wonderful reasons to write. I’ve heard other authors answer this question as well, with such varied responses as: ‘to elicit emotion’, ‘to express myself’, ‘to make money’, and of course, the old go-to, ‘because it’s what I’m meant to do’.

They’re all true enough, and all equally vague in their own ways. But dealing with such questions, it’s hard to avoid a little bit of abstraction, and that’s ok. When you try to dig any deeper—questioning things such as purpose and meaning—it becomes a real existential quagmire.

To me, writing is a sort of religion. Scratch that… like so many religions, that’s already a bit narrow-minded. Limiting this explanation to writing is unfair… more broadly, art as a whole—or metaphor more specifically—is my religion. Let me explain…

As humans, we occupy a level of intellectual complexity reserved for us alone. As a result, we have many abilities which are entirely foreign to all other known organisms. One of the most obvious, and arguably the most significant, is mortality salience. More clearly put, this refers to our awareness of our inevitable demise. This awareness, as fully explored in Ernest Becker’s ‘Terror Management Theory’, creates an existential terror in us that is unknown in other animals. It also creates something else… a drive for meaning.

Not only are we the only known animals to perceive that we will ultimately die, we are also the only ones capable of creating meaning from nothing—metaphor. The power of metaphor is something which must not be underestimated: it can give us hope, it can inspire courage, and—as applies in the case of mortality salience—it can provide us with comfort.

What makes us so special? Why do we alone have these powers of perception and creation? Well, simply put: evolution. Our brains, under the pressures of natural selection, have slowly expanded in form and function to get us where we are today. Now, this is certainly not the endpoint of evolution, but somewhere in that incredibly drawn out process, we’ve developed the capacities for both language and abstract thought. These developments are among the most crucial to defining our humanity.

Ever since the dawn of complex language in the early prehistory of man, we have been using it to ask such questions as where we came from, what our purpose is, and whether we are serving that purpose well. This delves into some deep religious and philosophical territory, but I believe the important point here is that abstract thinking—the ability create or attribute meaning and connections where they do not naturally exist—serves as both the impetus and the solution for such quandaries.

In short, the ability to ask ‘Why’ exists within us because of our propensity for abstract thought, which is also the reason we are able to answer that question with, ‘Because…’. Our need for meaning and our ability to create it are one in the same.

Metaphor is God—and vice versa. Everyone finds it somewhere—religions, movies, bands, relationships—we idealize and apply significance to everything within the limits of our perception. The fact that some of the most popular metaphors are now held as absolute truth (and used to justify both miracles and atrocities) doesn’t negate their reason for being or their power, but rather only affirms both.

Being human, we all share a sense of wonder. Looking up at the night sky, pondering the nature of deep emotions such as love or hate, reflecting on the direction of humanity and where we are to end up… these are natural behaviours which result inevitably from our very ability to articulate them. Once a question is asked, it cannot be unasked. There is no satisfying the human urge for understanding; only an ongoing effort to satiate it.

I call it the metaphorical imperative. To provide meaning is both the result of, and a response to, our ability to think metaphorically. Every story, song, painting—all works of art—are sincere grasps for meaning. Their success, the extent to which they succeed in this goal, is simply a matter of how strong an impact they have on their audience.
And… that’s why I write.

-Brad OH Inc.

‘Circular Journey’

Posted on March 18, 2013 by Brad Oates

At Brad OH Inc. we can relate to a good underdog story. After all, you don’t become a corporation without climbing over your share.

Today, for your reading pleasure, we here at Brad OH Inc. present an older work for your consideration. This was a piece written for a psychology class, back when our personhood referred only to ourself. This work is a psycho-biographical study of Joseph Bruce, known as Violent J of the Insane Clown Posse (ICP). The piece is written as a study of the artistic process experienced by Violent J, as viewed through the lens of ‘Terror Management Theory’, a psychological perspective originating from the works of Ernest Becker.

More information about Terror management theory can be found at:

http://www.psychologytoday.com/basics/terror-management-theory

More information about the insane clown posse can be found at:

Insane Clown Posse

Or visit them at:

ICP- Facebook

As ever, the free e-reader version is available at the Smashwords.com link below. Thanks for visiting Brad OH Inc. and remember to share anything you like—after all, a good reader is judged not by what they read, but by how many of their friends read it too.

Circular Journey Cover

Circular Journey- Smashwords

-Brad OH Inc.

‘Celebration of Fury’

Posted on February 18, 2013 by Brad Oates

At Brad OH Inc. we know our fan base is as diverse and inconsistent as our business ethics. So why not celebrate your eclectic nature by mixing up our own offers a bit? Today, Brad OH Inc. is happy to offer something completely different (TM Monty Python).

‘Celebration of Fury’ is not a story at all, but rather a poem. So for all of you who’ve been lamenting the lack of existential poetry available—you’d best find a new platform to protest. ‘Celebration of Fury’ is about the experience of human life, and like the lavish robes of the famous emperor, we know you’ll come to appreciate its excessive brilliance.

In a twist aggressively designed to improve the reading experience of our fans, we’ve elected to release this selection exclusively on Smashwords. So take a little time to sign up and download it—because after all, the only thing better than a free read, is a free read which gives demonstrative credit to its creators.