confrontation

Paul sat up, his face had started to swell and it was wet. He absently wiped at the wetness on his cheek. If we had been alone, I would have hit her back, he thought sullenly. His bladder chose at that moment to remind him to be elsewhere. He clambered to his feet and began walking towards the men’s restroom.

“She sure knocked the spit out of you.” cheered a man in blue jeans and black shirt that said something like `Hell Yeah!’ on it. His bald head reflecting the light.

Paul glared at them all and flipped him off- but his gesture was lost in the applause. He walked on into the restroom. He stopped inside the door, new thoughts sprang up in his mind as he replayed the scene and imagined what he would have like to have done to her. Paul walked over to the urinal to relieve the pressure on his bladder.

As he zipped up and flushed, he heard footfalls behind him. Before he could react, a man pushed him hard- crouch first into the urinal. Paul squealed in fright then grunted in pain, as there was sudden pressure in the small of his back. Water flowed over his pants and down his legs pooling on the floor and in his shoes. Steven- Paul thought angrily as he turned his head.

“Look manager-man, “ Paul began “I-“ But he never finished as he realized this man was taller than Steven was. The man was so tall that when Paul looked back, he was staring at the suit jacket of the man.

“Shut up, Shit-head!” The deep gruff voice commanded. “If you don’t lay off the Grover case- yer dead.” The thug size man held Paul in place for one more flush, reaching around Paul’s head with a big arm to pull the handle.

 Terror gripped Paul, he didn’t move. The thug let him go, but Paul remained leaning against the urinal until he heard the man exit. Paul stood there dripping until he felt he had regained his composure. He turned and walked over to the mirrored sink. As he approached, he saw the blood trail on his swollen cheek.

The bitch cut me! He touched the gash, his fear fading fast. She must have been wearing a ring; he grabbed a stretch of paper towel and dabbed it until bleeding stopped. He threw the used towel over his shoulder only to notice the blood on his hand. The hand he had just used to- the thought made him so sick that he dry-retched in the sink. He looked back up at the mirror- a sudden feeling that he had forgotten something.

Peggy! What was he going to tell Peggy! He began thinking ferociously. He soon had worked out a quick and convincing lie. He would tell her that he went to the restroom, water had splashed from the sink and he had slipped, hitting his face on the sink. In the dark she would only notice that he was cut and would give him sympathy. His lie was good and solid.

He smiled as it occurred to him that he could sue the theater. He had the evidence after all and the DA was in his back pocket. The truth might never be known.

Truth, Paul thought as he headed towards the door, truth is a funny thing-so easily twisted, so easily pliant. The door opened as he approached, Steven Lowe appeared. Steven stopped and looked at Paul, instantly noticing the big wet spot in Paul’s crotch. His eyes followed the stain down Paul’s pants legs and along to the puddle behind him. He looked back to Paul, who, caught thinking about his latest lawsuit, looked like a possum caught in someone’s headlights; frozen and stupid. He moved up until he almost stood nose to nose with Paul and said menacingly.

“Don’t come back to this theater again.”

            “Oh.” Paul choked. “Or what?”

            “Or I’ll have you arrested for loitering and public indecency.

            This time Steven’s smile was genuine.

more murder

A year ago, Caitlin had joined the District Attorneys’ office as new lawyers did. She was vigorous and ambitious. She had won several cases in the lower courts and had set her targets on the higher ones. Paul had met her and in a subsequent meeting asked her out. He had placed his hand on her buttocks as a flirtation. Then the next thing he knew, he was being charged with sexual harassment. How did she dare to charge the Assistant DA with such an act? She was just one of those “Militant Feminists” out to destroy men. Out to topple men in high places, like Paul. The case had been thrown out for insufficient evidence and Caitlin summarily dismissed.

Paul smiled at the thought of this woman, having whored her way to the peak only to fall all the way down. Had her disgrace been complete she would have left him alone, but the DA wouldn’t allow him to counter sue.

Caitlin had changed weaponry and came back at him from new directions. She tried to slander his name to the press- that had failed when the Attorney General had backed Paul’s defense. She then began to follow him and harass him over the phone. Paul had a judge put a restraining order against her, but it had only slowed her down. She began to harass his friends and neighbors, and girlfriends. Fortunately she had never learned of Peggy, and Peggy had no knowledge of Caitlin. Still Paul could not help the way he felt about Caitlin and now looking at her like she was a cornered animal; he felt a strange sense of power come over him. Recalling the excitement of gripping her arm, the feel of her goose flesh gave him a sexual excitement that he rarely felt. He wanted so much to reach out and slap her across the face.

“What do you want?” Caitlin began fiercely, wanting to draw notice away from her.

“What do you think, I want?” Paul quipped back. “I have a restraining order against you.”

But I-“ She began, then stopped. “Look, this is just a misunderstanding, I just came to see the movie.”

“Where’s your date?”

“Where’s my what? I came alone.”

“From the West Side?” Paul shot back, the theater being on the northeast side of Railston.

“I was looking for a change of place- I mean pace and this grand old’ theater came to mind.” Caitlin smiled. “How could I have known that you were here?“

“How could you have known? Well, you have been interrogating my neighbors and friends about where I go, what I eat, and who I see.” He said this with an air of authority, feeling power in his words.

“No. It’s not like that.” Caitlin interrupted. “I didn’t interrogate anyone.” She felt a desperation that had clung to her teeth for the last few days.

            “Shut up! Look- what we did is over.” Paul said raising his voice, knowing he could be heard. “You can’t have it back. Get on with your life and leave me alone!”

“What do you mean what we did?” Caitlin replied, her face going pale.

“If I ever see you again-“ Paul said commanding with his tone. “No- if I ever hear of you again, I will sue for every dime you have to your name. No- every dime you will ever have to your name. If that isn’t enough, I will have you charged with solicitation and prostitution!” Paul realized he was shouting, but the glee of his manner kept him going.

“And I mean every word of it you- you clinging, conniving bitch!”

            He glanced back to the concession counter to confirm that he had been heard. He looked back to Caitlin, who sat stiffly with a shocked expression on her face. She looked as if Paul had just slapped her and Paul decided that this was better than hitting her. Almost all the color had drained from her face, her mouth was moving but no sound escaped from her lips. She blinked and then blinked again. Paul looked back to the concession stand to find everyone, three employees, an assistant manager and a customer staring back. Steven, the manager was in his office with a phone call, but had stopped midway and stood with the phone dangling in one hand as if deciding what to do. Paul then turned back to Caitlin.

Caitlin’s mind raced, when Paul had first alluded to a fictitious affair. Then he had completely gone off the hook and accused her of immoral actions, calling her a whore. His words rang in her ears. Solicitations- she had heard this from the judge who had restrained her. Her thoughts were jumbled and she choked as a new understanding struck her like a bolt from the blue. Was that how he had won the lawsuit?

What had Paul Murray told the DA and the judge behind closed doors? Her fingers on her right hand worked the diamond ring around on her index finger as she struggled to come to grips with what Paul had said. Turning the edges of the ring brought new clarity to Paul’s words. He had called her a whore!

“Are you listening to me!” Paul said as he turned back to face her. He heard the door to the office close behind him.

Caitlin did not answer; the thought of Paul’s name-calling had brought a new revelation. Paul had convinced a judge that her allegations of sexual harassment and assault, had been nothing more than Caitlin trying to hide that she had solicited him for sex. The judge had dismissed her case with a warning- she was to maintain professional conduct at all times in the work place and to stop making false or imagined allegations against her superiors. In one stroke, Paul had sullied her reputation and destroyed her career. She had been surprised when the DA had dismissed her, but now the surprise was gone. She looked at Paul with newfound hatred.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more important matters to attend to.” Paul said as he glanced once more at the concession stand. The manager stood there now. Paul noted that he wasn’t coming over and relaxed.

He looked back at Caitlin. To his surprise, she made a quick movement and her right arm blurred. Paul barely had time to blink before Caitlin’s right fist connected with his jaw and a searing pain stabbed his face. She knocked the words out of his mouth so hard that saliva hit the wall. Paul toppled off the bench and hit the floor with a thud.  He lay there in shock as Caitlin rose to her feet. She looked at him, then at her hand. She felt her anger drip away as the reality of what he had done flooded back in.

            Cheers erupted as the employees and a customer broke the silence. Caitlin looked back at Paul, somehow knowing what he would do now. She looked over to the concession stand to find Steven grinning and his assistant on the phone. Cops, she thought, not what I need. Despair overcame her; she turned away from Paul and fled the theater out into the night and the rain. Steven followed.

more concessions for murder

Paul waited until Steve-the manager- or- whatever he was- was out of earshot and then looked back at Caitlin. Caitlin was staring off in the direction that the manager had taken. Paul gave a grunt of disgust at her distraction and said.

“Excuse me, Miss Marshal?”

Caitlin came back to reality. “Yes?” she answered nervously.

She looked at Paul as if she had just noticed him as he signaled with his right hand to a baroque style bench, one of eight that ringed the lobby. She turned and walked over to it still massaging the pain in her arm.

Paul followed her, his frustration and anger cooling as he observed the gentle tilting of Caitlin’s hips as she walked. Her buttocks were tight and muscular and moved smoothly as she walked. That guttural feeling returned, and Paul found a new heat building in him as she sat down, adjusting her black velvet skirt over her knee. Caitlin’s legs were long and well toned. She was taller than Peggy was, as almost as tall as Paul himself. She had blonde hair that fell in deep curls about her narrow shoulders, her skin was smooth and her breasts- her breasts were perfect. Paul felt his heat rise as he looked at Caitlin’s breasts held away in her velvet v-cut dress. She was showing cleavage. Paul thought about cupping each of her breasts in his hands. His daydreaming ended when she made a throaty sound and his eyes met her icy blue. Paul’s fever fell like ice in a windstorm.

Caitlin sighed, her eyes still flashing as she remembered Paul had a real obsession with her breasts. The thought made her sick to her stomach. She glared up at him as he went to sit down beside her. She slid further down the bench in order to leave a space between them.

From his position under this cold new glare, Paul began to remember why he had come to hate this woman so much. What had started out as an innocent flirtation had become a nightmare of harassment and subsequent lawsuits. He stared back at Caitlin feeling a new deep sense of rage creeping up inside of him.

any concession for murder

                        “Nothing is as certain as death and taxes.”

                                                                        (Meet Joe Black)

The movie dragged on about certainties in life: Paul Murray stifled a yawn and wondered again how he had let Peggy drag him out to the movies. He was a busy man and movies did not usually make his schedule unless the movie was a prelude to sex; and in this case it was. Peggy was his regular girl- though he kept others on the side whenever got bored of her. She was good enough for a laugh and in the sack, but Paul always liked to keep his options open. Peggy Milsap sat to the right of Paul in the darkened theatre, desperately trying to hold back the tears as Brad Pitt steamed up the screen. Paul glanced at the tearful Peggy then back to the screen to watch Mr. Pitt confess his love to another beauty that one could actually conceive of dying for. Not that Paul would have died for anything- or anyone for that matter. He certainly would not have died for Peggy even though he believed he loved her, but only occasionally, in moments of weakness.  He was instantly grateful he hadn’t married her, although he had nearly asked a year ago- another moment like that. Paul knew that he would never dare marry Peggy or any other woman, he could not afford such a character flaw in his life.

He stifled another yawn wanting to look away from Brad and his all to beautiful partner engaged in the love scene. He looked to his left at the couple, five or six seats down, all snuggled together as they watched the movie. Disgusted, he looked back at Peggy, wondering if he could stand such an entanglement. His thoughts turned to why he thought they were still together. He found no reasons intellectually, so he appraised her physically instead.  Peggy for the most part was a plain woman in appearance, slender and small. She had a round doll-like face with a narrow nose and small mouth framed by straight black hair. Her mouth was sweet to kiss but had left no lasting impression. On her thin nose rested a pair of full-rimmed glasses, librarian size and shape. Peggy only wore them when she went to movies and to read. She reads too much Paul thought, as his eyes wondered on down. He glanced briefly at her slim arms which were crossed under her breasts- the only feature that held much interest and longing for Paul.

            Paul admired Peggy’s breasts, which were pushing hard against her tee shirt. Her nipples protruded against the flimsy bra that Paul made her wear when they went out. Paul smiled, Peggy’s breasts were small and hard; he realized at that moment, in the dark, that was why he stayed. Paul sat satisfied with this newfound answer. A new feeling rolled over him and he looked back at his sole reason for staying, something stirred deep down inside of his being. Paul purred.

This purring noise was deep “guttural” sound-like that of a lion looking at his next meal. Peggy gave him a look of real surprise. Her face had reddened from her tears and now a fresh blush came into her cheeks and she almost smiled. Her smile froze on her face, like a tongue on frozen metal, as she saw where Paul’s gaze was glued. Her frozen smile melted into a grimace of disgust, her arms quickly cutting off his view.

“Paul!” she hissed almost to loud to be a whisper.

“Paul!” she repeated low but with sharper inflection.

Paul snapped out of his reverie like a rubber band freshly sprung. He looked into her icy expression.

“Yes my sweets?” He managed to choke out.

“Would you get me a Pepsi” She quickly added, “diet please.”

“Okay Honey.”

            Paul instantly felt a surge of relief to escape Brad Pitt. He secretly wished he could escape Mr. Pitt forever. Paul rose quickly to his feet only to receive hisses and muffled threats as he blocked the screen for the couples in the rows behind.

Jerks! Paul thought- Brad Pitt isn’t even in this scene, but he stooped anyway as he sidestepped towards the aisle. Reaching the aisle, Paul quickly strode for the lobby and certain freedom.

He was just about to push through the doors when he nearly tripped over someone. Pivoting as he stumbled, he stared into the frightened eyes of a woman.

It was Caitlin Marshall.

Paul reached out and grabbed Caitlin’s left arm and yanked her towards him and the doors. They both burst out into the spacious lobby of the theatre. Paul angrily held onto her arm as he walked into the lobby as if he intended to throw her out. Paul realized he wanted to.

A man in a maroon blazer and tie spun around from the concession counter as the pair came out.

“Just what the Hell!” Paul began, turning on the woman.

“Is everything okay?” A voice questioned over his shoulder.

How had he gotten there so fast? Paul thought in frustration and a little fear.

“Would you mind your own business.” Paul snarled without turning, still glaring at Caitlin- who stood like a girl needing desperately to go to the bathroom.

“Are you alright- Ma’am?” The manager said as he came around Paul’s blocking mass. He immediately noticed Paul’s grip on Caitlin’s arm. He looked back at her face, which was torn between embarrassment and pain. Caitlin opened her mouth to speak, but Paul cut her off.

“She’s fine. So why don’t you go away and sweep the floor.” Paul stopped; spittle ran down his chin. Fear hit him hard as the manager turned on him.

The manager stood half a head shorter than Paul, squared build and wore an expression like that of an angry pitbull.

A lump rose in Paul’s throat.

“This is my theater, sir, and I was addressing the lady- who I am sure will be better when you let go of her arm.” His voice was quiet, his tone deadly.

“Or?” Paul was still determined to stand his ground.

“Or-“ continued the manager, bringing his clenched hands forward.

“I’ll dismantle you,” he said smiling, “piece by piece.”

            The finality of the threat sunk into Paul who found him staring at the calluses on the manager’s knuckles. He gulped for air like a man drowning, letting go of Caitlin’s arm. He raised his arms defensively in front of him with his hands spread wide.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

Paul managed a feeble smile.

“Of course. No harm- no foul.” The manager grinned. He turned to face Caitlin, who stood less awkwardly, rubbing her arm.

“Steven A. Lowe, Ma’am.” He extended his right hand. Caitlin took it feeling the security in it. A profound look of gratitude came over her.

“Thanks.” She said. “Caitlin Marshall.”

“If you need anything else,” Steven said with a genuine smile, “I’ll be right over there.”

He pointed across the lobby to the concession stand. Caitlin nodded-the color coming back into her cheeks. Steven turned to look at Paul, who stood palely in place.

“Behave.” Steven said as he walked past Paul, in a tone low enough for Paul to think that he was the only one who heard it. As Steven walked back to the concession stand, he gave a shallow wave to the other employees to get back to work. Marcy, his assistant manager, gave him thumbs up to show her approval of Steven’s actions.

Rabble, Steven thought, wishing he had kept the policeman- security guard there for weeknights. Rabble came on weeknights, and there always seemed to be trouble when the rabble was here.

Steven sighed and shook his head as he looked back at the couple. He wondered what a woman like that would be doing with a man of that character. The man appeared to be behaving. Steven looked at the beautiful woman trying to remember her name.

Herein I give a few words of instruction

How to shoot a Wedding at St. John’s

1. Come at least an hour before the wedding.
2. get wedding program sheet- you will need this for names and to know what to look for Rick to Play before wedding procession
3. go upstairs- turn on TV lights
4. check sound board: make sure the following levels are up:
1. Channels 1-3 are at 0-5- these are the wireless mikes
2. Lectern 0-5
3. Left prayer same
4. Choir 20

5. Turn the following equipment (if necessary):
1. Turn on all the camera monitors
2. Turn on program and preview monitors
3. Turn on the Panasonic HDD player
4. Turn on Black HP computer
5. Turn on the DV capture device
6. Turn on LCD TV

6. Check cameras: controls, zoom, pan tilt
7. Check DV capture device (located on shelf behind Silver HP): make sure the analog light is on-push silver button until light moves from digital to analog

8. Go to Black HP:
1. Log in
2. Double click on studio launcher icon
3. Select pinnacle studio- wait for it to load
4. Select capture tab
5. If you get a message that no capture device is detected than exit program, check DV capture device-verify analog setting, start pinnacle again (if you don’t do this it will cause problems with capture). Repeat steps b-d.
6. click start capture
7. enter name of those being wedded
8. click start capture

9. Go to Panasonic HDD- get remote: at this point the LCD TV should auto tune to the Panasonic.
10. verify that you see the church on LCD (if not then take remote and do following):
1. point remote at Panasonic (not TV) you will look at TV but use remote towards Panasonic
2. select Direct navigator button- which will bring up a menu
3. select return button and you should see church on LCD TV
4. press record on remote or record button on Panasonic HDD

11.  Shoot wedding: Rick Sidey will start playing 20 minutes of... (before the wedding start time
12. After the wedding has ended run cameras at least 15 minutes and get b-roll footage of activities following wedding- more on that later.
13. stop recording on Panasonic HDD and PC
14. turn of same equipment (if necessary)

Things to cover while shooting and things to know

·        sometime there will be a quintet, quarter playing by baptismal font, if so- move left prayer mike near them- bring up the level downstairs-not necessary up stairs, play camera time between Rick and other musicians

·        Often Rick will have a trumpet player with him- doesn’t worry about miking them –the choir mikes will pick them up. Repeat same process as above.

·         Make sure to get the procession of mothers before the wedding formally starts and people shots interspersed with the music

·        During the wedding do not forget the reading from the lectern

·        Make sure to get close-ups of the wedding couple

·        MAKE SURE YOU GET THE KISS

·        Following the wedding look to get the newlyweds and witnesses signing the documents- this is almost always down in the first row of the left choir at the back- usually can get a good shot unless the photographer is an idiot and gets in the way

·        I always shoot them taking pictures and looking for laughter and reaction shots

·        Take about 15 minutes and shut down- these are for B-roll which I will add to the edit.

·        Do not use the CG- I will add titles in the edit process

·        Have fun but not too much fun- remember this is for them- we want to impress the family of the newlyweds with our camera ability

·        Don’t freak if you mess up- I can usually fix even the worst mistakes as long as I have a recording.

·        Good luck and thanks

Now ask yourself this- How did this get so outdated?

Sneak Peak at The Beast's Tale

The Knight Tree

What follows is a rough new beginning for the novel that I still don’t have a working title for.




The Knight Tree stood large and ominous in the mists that engulfed it at times in the narrow gully at the foot of the pass. Once it had been a mighty tree standing the test of time as it dominated the landscape and the wooded land that existed beyond it stretching into the valley. It was the lone guardian against the mountain pass. The first and thus the last tree or thing a person would see coming into or leaving from the Valley of Long Shadows.
The tree had many branches now bare of foliage reaching up into the sky with branches like great claws ripping at the mists that surrounded it daily at dusk and morning. One who gazed upon the Knight Tree could see why it had earned this ominous namesake, for from the lower of it branches hung the bodies of its title. Three suits of plate armor hung like ornaments from the tree as if some unsympathetic giant had found it fit to decorate the tree as such. The sight gave pause to those who saw its visage looming out of the environment as if to say who dares to come into my domain.
I dare, Sir Dinadain had said as he had rode under it from the pass that morning. Part of him had wished to climb into the monstrous tree and cut his brethren down from it, but he had no means to get up to the branches which were a good 16 feet from the floor of the gully. Dinadain had seen many fearsome spectacles that were to beheld in the pass he had just crossed but this was perhaps the worst, for Dinadain knew these knights’ names.
Their names were written on the logs of the missing at the Benevolent Gaurdian, the Keep of the Order of the Silver Hand. Each of these men, these great men had earned their titles through deeds of great renown but now had been reduced to the scarecrow corpses hanging from this travesty, no this mockery of all that they had stood against. Dinadain had paused only long enough to pray over their remains and curse their murderer- not for the first time.
Sir Sagremore had come to the Valley first and his armor now hung in the branches as if thrown their by some careless giant in a fit of anger. Not some giant, Dinadain corrected himself, no this was the monster that Sagremore had come to kill. Sagremore’s faith had failed him as had his sword apparently.
Sir Duncan De Loce had followed Sagremore here a year later to learn of his fate. Sagremore had been declared missing not long before De Loce had joined him on the logs at the order. Apparently he too had shared a similar fate as his brother in arms. The last Knight to grace this accursed tree was that of Dinadain’s own family, his older brother Cinwyn Dinadain had come to meet with fate and lose his life upon this cruel tree. Dinadain had shed a tear for his brother before spurring his mount into the Valley beyond.

Now Dinadain limped in a half gait- half run through the long grasses that separated the forest from the Knight Tree as the monster had called it. The creature had towered over the shallow ravine where Dinadain had crashed after the monster had decapitated his horse sending him and the head of his beloved steed crashing through the underbrush to the bottom of that awful place. Dinadain stopped just in sight of the Wicked effigy of death looming before him in the evening mists. He cursed the fowl luck that had brought him here. He cursed his fool hardy courage and bravado for daring to tread where the bravest of the Order would not go. He cursed fate for delivering him into the hands of the Beast.
He knew at once that visage of nightmare had followed him there. He looked up at his brother hanging above him and hated everything he was or could have been. His brother leered down at him as if inviting him up to hang beside him. Dinadain felt the cold fear close around his heart, his legs began to shake uncontrollably as he felt his death approaching him across the long grassed behind him. Yet he would not turn to face it.
He reached up on hand, his left and was shocked to find the gauntlet gone, lost somewhere backm in those woods of twisted trees. Shaking with terror and exhaustion he struggle to rip the leather laces free from his helmet. If he could see the Beast this time perhaps he could slay the cursed creature and go home to his beloved order and the arms of Lily. The thought of Lily, brought tears and he choked on them. His hand forgot the laces to scrabble at the pouch at his throat. Somehow they found purchase and pulled free the lock of blond hair and tissued silk hidden therein. He breathed in her scent one last time wishing he could hide his head in her lap on last time before...
Sir Dinadain turned to face the darkness as if came rolling across the grasses that separated his death from the woods. No Salvation would come. Lily was lost to him forever, perhaps she had always been lost to him. Damn them all he thought as he let loose a scream and swung his sword high and forward into the coming night.

The shadow looked down at the man who now hung forward on the sword that impaled his chest. The Beast was not sure but the man may have died before the blade had ever impacted the plate armor covering his chest. This knight’s armor would have protected him from such a thrust of a weaker weapon and weaker opponent. This is no weak weapon, the Beast reflected nor am I a weak opponent.
The two of them stood there as the shadows of evening slid down the mountains to reach out across the valley in their long embraces. The beast felt the knights weight loosen as the last of his life left him. The Beast considered the knight for a long time. This one had been braver than the last. He had not begged for his life nor cursed and swore when it was ripped from him. What had the man screamed as he had swung his sword for the last time?

Lily.

The knight had screamed out a name, a flower’s name, no not a flower but a woman’s name. This man who had come to kill him had cried out in regret for the woman who had now lost him to the bitterness of death. Carefully the Beast lowered his sword and thus the Knight as well to the ground. Then placed his boot on the man’s chest, then with painstaking careful strength pulled the blade free.
The Beast considered his victim, this assassin as he lay in the long grasses surroundied by the stain of his blood as it seeped out of him into the ground. How many more would come before there would not be any who dared disturb the Valley of Long Shadows? The Beast looked up at the Tree where the three other had taken their places. Silently he chose a spot for this man to join his brethren and become a warning to those who would dare come here to try their fates against him. Fools that these mortals be.
The Beast returned his gaze down to the Knight that lay at his feet. he caught a glimpse of gold as the last of the light of day retreated from the valley. Carefully the Beast crouched down to pluck the golden piece up from where it had dropped from the man’s hand. The Beast considered the lock of golden hair and silk in his hand then looked down at the man who lay at his feet.

Lily.

The Beast knew of loss; loss like this man had given away that day. The insanity of it interested him. He shook his great head and considered the treasure in his hand. He would bury it with the man in the morning. The Knight or at least his armor would join the others in the Knight Tree.

Chapter 20

"The philosopher does not try to dictate how scientific inquiry and argument ought to be conducted. Instead he tries to enumerate the principles and practices that have contributed to good science."
                                                                                                                               Jerry A. Fodor.

The philosopher sat in from of his computer and reread that line over and over again. The philosopher's job is to question the contributions of science and it's methods, he thought and squinted at the flickering screen. Traditional philosophies of the mind can be divided into two distinct categories. Dualism and materialism. With the duelist approach the mind is observed as a nonphysical substance, such as the existence of the soul.
In the materialistic approach the mind is not distinct from the physical state like that of his son, Jack's obsession with video games. Will that be enough to argue that in the materialistic approach can be applied to anything other than abstract thought? Can this computer for instance answer me this basic question? Or does is take a mind and a body for cognitive thought flow?

Recently, the philosopher reflected  as he spun the pencil on the desk next to the computer with its cyclopian eye glaring back at him unblinking, a new approach has been introduced. Oh boy, by new does that mean that he could finally publish or better yet go home and take the video games away from Jack and play them himself?
Probably not.

Functionalism. Yep, that what those stuffed shirts are going to call it the philosopher thought. Functionalism emerged out of the quagmire of philosophical reflection on the developments in artificial intelligence, computational theory, linguistics of cell phones, cybernetics and of course the fruition of psychology. The result? Skynet.
Well maybe no terminators running around grounding flighty philosophers like him but the same concept would rock his world and probably his job
"The chief drawback of dualism is in its failure to account adequately for mental causation... Dualism is also incompatible with the practice of psychology." Fodor again, the stuffed shirt.

Behaviorism has always worn an air of paradox...the idea of mental causation is deeply ingrained in our everyday language (whose? oh wait- the stuffed shirts)" And in our understanding of humanity.
Thus the strongest argument against behaviorism is that psychology has turned out to be different from behavioral predictions, since it has moved beyond it (and supper time).

Logical behaviorism is a semantic theory about the definition and meaning of mental terms. Logical behaviorism is strong in the fact by translating mental languages into the language of stimuli and response that it provides interpretations of psychological explanations in which the behavioral effects are attributed to mental causation (phew)
The central-state identity theory states that mental events are states and processes are identical with neuro-physical events in the brain and property of being in certain mental stats is identical with the property of being in a certain neuro-physiological state. HEY IS THIS ONE OF THOSE LOOP ARGUMENTS!

The philosopher decided that the scotch would be a good idea.

"Functionalism construes the concept of casual role in such a wqay that a mental state can be defined by its causal relations to other mental states."
Funstionalism is fully compatible with token physicalism, which logical behaviorism fails to accomplish. BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH!!!!!!

Yes, the Philospher's bubble had burst by this point. There would be no video games tonight.

Basically mental representation is the only functional part of the mind-body problem and though we should "acknowledge" the others we should pay special attention to this theory because it is better and won't rot your brain like marijuana and bad sex.

'nuff said. (the Thing said that.)


The Philosopher
August 4, 1992