Clock Ticks Down as “Doomsday” Approaches

The Bulletin of Atomic Scientists announcing 

their recent change to the Doomsday Clock

Earlier this week, the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists announced their decision to move their Doomsday Clock timer from 3 minutes to midnight to 2.5 minutes; the lowest the clock has been since 1953, where it was set 11:58. This change was prompted by a variety of reasons, the Bulletin claims in their press release, including the election of Donald Trump as President of the United States, increasing tensions in countries like Syria, Russia, India, and Pakistan, the inaction of world leaders addressing climate change and nuclear concerns, and emerging technologies.

The Doomsday Clock, first featured in 1947 and created by Martyl Langsdorf, is a symbolic representation expressing the concerns of the Bulletin regarding how close they believe we are to global catastrophe—with midnight indicating a global catastrophe, such as a nuclear detonation or irreversible climate damage. When adjusting the clock, the Bulletin considers several factors—primarily nuclear war—as well as climate change, cyber threats, and biosecurity. By closely analyzing the state of global affairs, statistics regarding nuclear stockpiles, and data collected from environmental research, the Science and Security Board of the Bulletin makes the choice of moving the clock forwards, signifying the world moving closer to global catastrophe, or backwards, signifying the efforts of world leaders to alleviate global issues.

The furthest that the clock has been from midnight—17 minutes—was in 1991 with the collapse of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War. Since then, the clock has slowly ticked down, reaching 3 minutes in 2015. Now, for the first time in the clock’s 70-year history, the Bulletin has adjusted it less than a minute, claiming that while the election of Donald Trump and his “intemperate” statements have created cause for concern, the implications are still uncertain, and only time will tell whether the clock will be adjusted another 30 seconds. They further addressed other issues, including tensions in Eastern Europe between Russia and Syria, North Korea’s recent nuclear weapon tests, and the threats of new technologies like autonomous machines.

On their website, the Bulletin urges ordinary people to become informed of the issues surrounding the Doomsday Clock, as well as to get in touch with government representatives to encourage policies that diverge from climate change disaster and money spent on nuclear. They also advise public leaders to take immediate action, citing the necessities of strong leaders who make it their priority to address these issues.

In popular culture, the Doomsday Clock has been the focal point of many stories to address the issues of global disaster. The Watchmen comic, set in an alternate universe during the Cold War, is one of the most prominent of media that utilizes the imagery of the Doomsday Clock, showing the Clock counting down as the comic continues. The Clock is also referenced in TV shows such as Heroes and Supernatural, and in music from artists like Linkin Park, The Clash, and Bright Eyes.

Self

October is an interesting time of the year. 

I find it to be that time of the year where I reflect on my current situation, as well as the events from the rest of the year. Where a longing desire for warmth flourishes despite the cold grasp of Winter pulling pleasant memories of Summers into the recesses of my mind. Even though I hardly ever even post through this medium anymore, you can still look around at my last few posts and you'll really only see October (the posts made during my time in high school aside).

I just turned 21, so I guess I'll be nursing a glass of whiskey instead of a sweater to keep myself warm. Oh, what joyous inebriation. Let's begin.

In my Spanish course we are reading through a really interesting short story called Borges y Yo. For those unfamiliar with the story (and the language) I have provided a rough translation below (although I'd strongly recommend reading it in Spanish if you can. It loses meaning through translation, as many things do).

It is to the "other," to Borges, which things happen to. I walk through Buenos Aires and I delay myself, almost mechanically, to look at the arch of a hallway and the inner door [my translation here is a little rough]; I learn about Borges through his mail and I see his name in a list of professors or in a biographical dictionary. I enjoy hourglasses, maps, the typography of the 18th century, etymologies, the taste of coffee, and the works of Stevenson; the "other" shares these preferences, but in a vain way, so that it is like acting. I would be exaggerating if I said that our relation is hostile; I live, and I am allowed to live, so that Borges can develop his stories and it is through these stories that my existence is justified. It is easy to say that he has managed certain truths in his writing, but these pages cannot save me, maybe because everything that is good is only from language and tradition, and not from anyone else, especially not from him. Besides, I am destined to lose myself forever, and only one instance of myself will survive in him. Little by little, I am going to give everything up to him, although I am aware of his evil nature of lying. 

Spinoza understood that all things want to continue in their existence; the stone wants to always be a stone, and the tiger a tiger. I will remain in Borges, not in myself (if I am somebody), but I recognize myself less in his books compared to others or compared to the laborious strum of a guitar. For many years I have tried to free myself of him and passed through the mythologies of the suburbs to games about time and infinity, but these games are Borges' now, and I will have to imagine other things. So therefore, my life is an escape and I lose everything and everything else belongs to oblivion or to him. 

I do not know which of us writes this.

Summ'd up, I think it is really interesting how Borges sees a piece of himself as an other. Someone he sees in books, in music. Someone who is almost detached from himself, a separate mind. I don't think he's crazy, or schizophrenic, or anything like that, though. It's hard to explain, and having to understand this through the context of another language is even harder. 

So what does this all have to do with what I am writing about? Well when reading this, I felt that I could most certainly relate. One thing that's really been on my mind these last few months is my name. For many who knew me in high school, I just went by the name I always did: Nathanael. Or Parker, depending who you are.

However, as I reached college I felt it was necessary to provide some sort of change of character, so I shortened my name down to Nate. My initial justification of this was that it was so much easier to deal with. No more teachers calling me McDaniel, Mathanyull, or spelling my name wrong in a million and one ways. I believe this was the original intent of the change, and everything else is me projecting my current state of mind unto my past self. Perhaps this is even true.

However, I do not think this is the case. While this was initially my intent behind the change, I feel like suddenly, through Nate, I started to be the person who I wanted to be.

As a brief intermission, I suffer from social anxiety and a plethora of problems pertaining to it. It's something I have suffered from since middle school, and I try not to let it become me, but I am forced to stand up to it nonetheless.

Nate didn't have anxiety. He got good grades. He had friends and went out and had fun. He worked hard at his job and met everyday with a smile. He partied, and lived that college life that the movies and everyone else always talks about.

I wish that was me, but it isn't. The truth is, I get so self-conscious about my anxiety that I don't want to go out. I put off doing my homework because I would rather gratify myself now and work later. Sure, I've got friends. But when I sit down and think about all the people I can truly trust, the count barely makes it onto one hand. I enjoy my job, but I worry that I could do so much more for them. I can hardly get out of bed in the mornings.

But what the hell am I then? I like to read. I like to write. Some piece of me wants to write music and learn to play guitar. I want to get out and travel. The stars fascinate me, and I hope to one day teach.

I think the issue is, I am having an identity crisis of who society thinks I should be, and who I want to be. I know, I should be myself. But I've seen that side, and it's not good. I dealt with a whole can of shit in my senior year, and I was in a really bad place. That was who I saw "Nathanael" as.

A crushing realization hit me today, that I just need to move on. From everything. I think the part of me that wanted to be called Nate wanted to do this because that past life was over. I had graduated. I had a job. I was turning over a new page. Forgetting the depressive episode I suffered from through my senior year and trying to be a happier, newer person.

I feel I was successful in some way, but doing it for all the wrong reasons. Not to make myself happy but quite the opposite. Instead, I was trying to put out some image of myself for others to like. I told a lot of lies, and I really wasn't true to myself. But the show had to go on, so I didn't stop.

So I am moving on from the past. Starting today. After reading Borges y Yo, I was strangely euphoric; I felt happy for the first time in who knows how long, the songs that had stabbed daggers into my heart suddenly seemed meaningless, and I felt like I was experiencing the whole world and its joys for the first time ever. It was beautiful.

I guess my overall goal is to really start trying to be myself again. To be that guy who wears goofy bowties to school. To enjoy the things I enjoy doing. To accept myself for who I am. Not only that, but to also make positive changes in my life, and improving myself as a person. Because there is nothing wrong with wanting to have good grades, or good friends, or a good time, but only if I don't try to change who I am in the meantime.

I know it's going to be a lot of work, but I'm finally ready to get at it.

And hell, maybe I'll even try Nathanael on for size again.

Until life's next great adventure,

Hobey ho,
-- Nathanael Parker

The Coldest Parts

Autumn seems to bring out the coldest part of all of us. I find myself wishing more and more of the company of another. Waking dreams plague my mind, bringing with them vivid illusions of endearment. I lie awake, hardly able to distinguish between the tangible and the fantastic; my nerves tingle as I feel the imaginary stroke of fingertips across my ribs. I hear the rhythmic whispers of a rising and collapsing chest, whispering affection into the chilled air.

There are dreams of warm drinks in warmer lodges. A hearth blazes with passion in a corner. This dream turns to cinders like a cigarette burn through paper and I am walking down leaf-bordered sidewalks, your fingers brushing my own. Someone presses fast-forward and the dream whizzes away. The scent of cider wafts into existence and there are dishes in the sink. You had made some sort of pumpkin spice delicacies. The oven glows in stark contrast to the TV across the room. A look. A smile. A dream.

But none of it is real.

A synapse in the brain fires, cutting short hallucinations. Reality takes control again. Crippling feelings of loneliness wash over what was passion only moments before.

 I’m lying in a desert wasteland, shambling for an oasis.

This queen-sized mattress suddenly feels much too large for its sole resident. 

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Recommended Listening: 9 Crimes - Damien Rice, Draw Your Swords - Angus and Julia Stone, Sleepwalkin' - Modest Mouse

Reading List - June of 2013 to June of 2014

So here is the list of all the books I had read last year (where a year is roughly around the time between the beginning of senior year and the end). I had it in the sidebar, but I am now transitioning this "year's" list over there. If you ever need a good read, check this list out.

• House of Leaves (Danielewski)
• The Wave (Strasser)
• The Handmaid's Tale (Atwood)
• Brave New World (Huxley)
• The Wizard of Oz (Baum)
• The Fault in Our Stars (Green)
• The Martian Chronicles (Bradbury)
• Fight Club (Palahniuk)
• The Importance of Being Earnest (Wilde)
• The Call of Cthulhu and Other Dark Tales (Lovecraft)
• Mister Monday (Nix)
• Frankenstein (Shelley)
• Hamlet of Denmark (Shakespeare)
• Fergus Crane (Stewart/Riddell)
• A Game of Thrones (Martin)
• Joust of Honor (Stewart/Riddell)
• The Six Directions of Space (Reynolds)
• Marionette Inc. (Bradbury)
• Zero Hour (Cussler)
• Romulus Buckle and the City of Founders (Preston)
• Fahrenheit 451 (Bradbury)
• Ender's Game (Card)
• 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (Verne)
• Catch-22 (Heller)

The Shining

I can't sleep at night, because I think of you. I think of the way the corners of your mouth form a smile, or the ways you laugh. I think of how you made fun of me, and how we both so playfully teased each other about one thing or the other. I think about all the differences we have, and all the ways we are the same. I think about how natural it felt to hold you, and about the way you hugged me goodbye. I think about your family and all the embarrassing stories we shared. I think about how we sat in absolute silence and still somehow felt okay.

I think about how we somehow survived a three hour movie neither of us understood.

Because

Because I'm scared.
I've faced the fires of passion
And I've been burned.
Because I've waited and waited
And I get so tired of playing pretend
Like this is some kind of game to you.
And I hope that somehow this will be different
But that nagging fear remains in the back of my head.
Will it?

Sweet Dreams

How do I even write shit. Here goes me trying to write something for the first time in forever.

     The autumn wind blew hard that day; leaves fell off the trees and flew past me, my hair danced wildly. My shirt sleeve rolled down, and I pushed it up past my elbows again. I found shelter in the building my class in, my heart began beating faster and faster. I knew I would see you.
     Your class got out, the one before mine. Whatever language class that was, but you walked out, talking to a classmate in some foreign language I didn't recognize, and laughed. I waited outside the door. Your face lit up when you saw me; metaphorical doves took flight. We hugged. I felt your warm body against mine and my heart swelled. I was the first to pull back, out of respect. One...two... steps you took back, and a soft smile filled the corners of your face. I returned it with my awkward half-grin. You were wearing a beautiful plaid skirt with matching stockings to battle the slowly approaching winter's bite. Your shirt loudly advertised the fact that you saw some obscure band I'd never heard of at some hole-in-the-wall bar.
     That's one thing I loved about her, she always had new music to show me. It didn't matter if it was two in the morning and I was furiously slamming on the fragile keys of my laptop to finish some essay for Biology on a topic I'd learned solely about on Wikipedia, suddenly your name would light my phone in the darkness and, next thing you know, I'm rocking out to the next new indie-electronic-pop-hardcore-rock album you found.
     "Hey, would you like to get some coffee?"
     I'm getting off track.
     "Hello? Stop staring off like some sort of zombie." you said, poking me in the stomach.
     I shook my head and focused back on her. "I'm sorry, what?" I asked you.
     "It's cold out, you wanna go out with me and get some coffee?" you said again, your smile growing larger.
     My classmates brushed past me, my class only minutes from starting. I had made this decision when I saw you though.
     "Sure, who needs Spanish anyways?" I laughed and we walked out together. I held the door open, and we walked back out into the cold autumn air.
     "You look really nice today, I thought I'd let you know." you told me. I fixed my tie, looked to my feet, and grinned. She adored how I dressed, finding the way I carefully crafted my ties and sweaters and shirts and everything else in a way that looked equally formal and casual. The white of my dress-shirt pleasantly contrasted the dark-gray sweater vest I wore, accented perfectly by my black tie. Meanwhile my brown belt and shoes added an autumn feel that matched my hair. You would of thought I planned this stuff, but trust me, I just throw stuff on. Maybe four years of graphic design led me to always subconsciously think about color theory.
     A crisp breeze settled in. You shivered. I wrapped my arm around your waist and brought you close. Maybe it was to keep you warm, but we both know why I really did it. You smiled slightly. We walked in a comfortable silence. We didn't need words to enjoy each other's company.
     We reached the coffee shop and stood in line to order.
     "What do you want? I'll pay for whatever you want." I told her.
     "No you don't have to do that..." you said humbly.
     I interrupted, "No seriously, it's completely fine, I just got paid." You finally gave in and told me her order. I talked with the barista for a moment and ordered our drinks. You found a booth to sit at and idly toyed with your phone. I brought you your drink and sat across from you. We looked in each other's eyes like a moment from a cheap romance movie. I did a great job of ruining the moment by spilling hot coffee on my lap. You tried to stop yourself from laughing, doing all you could to try and not embarrass me. I wouldn't have minded either way.
     You scooted over towards me and rested your head on my shoulder. Your hair smelled like that flowery shampoo you use and pumpkin. We sat together and drank our coffee, as if nothing in the world could bother us right here in this moment.
     It wasn't long before we finished. I took your empty cup and threw it away, and then grabbed your hand and we walked outside together.
     "That was nice." you said to me. I turned towards you,
     "Maybe we can do a movie or something at my place next week." I replied. You giggled and nodded "That'd be wonderful."
     I hugged you a little longer this time. You looked at me after we finished, a look of longing and passion and happiness. I knew. I leaned in. I kissed you. The wind blew my hair out of place, but I didn't care anymore.
     "I'll see you next time." I said and smiled again.

Then I woke up.



(Word Count: 865 words)

Myth

     Surprise, guess who was sprung with a unexpected announcement? Turns out, I'll be needing a second poem for this Slam thing going on next week. It's hard to enough to write one poem with meaning, but to figure out two that are equally important? That's what I find difficult. I'm still juggling my options of doing my Insignificance poem first and then this one, in order to get my better poem presented, or to do this one first and hope it's good enough to carry me to the second round. If that's the case, then I am sure to win with my other poem... But who knows. A $50 pot is up for grabs, though I don't exactly need it. Anyways, here's my second poem, enjoy.

I am the one who rises the sun in the morning

and shines light through your bedroom window.

Racing over golden fields which you run through

As you gracefully tread over hills of grass,

Which sways in the day

and dances to the music of the wind. 

A beautiful nymph in the open of the world.

But soon the hills dipped into darkness

And ominous clouds rolled over the skies.

A thunderstorm of suffering

A lightning flash of pain.

An angry God of jealousy and hate.

I watched you flee to cleaner skies

And calmer rivers.

I'd be the shimmer on your shoulder

In the reflection of the pond.

You stare so selfishly, seeing only yourself,

ignoring those around you, longing for a love.

But in that reflection I did not see you,

But him.

A visage of everything I wish I could be.

Insignificance

I was asked to enter a poetry slam next week, of which I accidentally agreed to. If you saw my previous post, you likely saw my short story detailing the adventures between a tortoise and a deer. This expands on that idea a little, but in a more terse manner. So bear with me through these various metaphors and allusions, and please, enjoy.

There once was a deer and a tortoise
An unlikely pair it seems
But nonetheless they got along.
Despite this, both were insignificant;
The deer, not insignificant in the way that
she had meant nothing to the tortoise
but that she was simply a blemish on the face
of this infinitely expanding universe.
Yet the tortoise, he was insignificant in that
his existence had meant absolutely nothing
to the beautiful deer. Eventually they became separate
and drifted apart. Slowly they watched a shooting star,
and their world vanished in a flash of light.
And if you bear with me through all these allusions and metaphors
One may believe that they are insignificant; that their existence means nothing
to anyone or anything. Slowly this feeling grows like
Dandelions in a gardener's field, blowing away in the wind
Only to spread to further parts of your mind.
Soon they watch themselves helplessly spiraling 
into a tide of depression, through the darkest ocean
from which they have no lifeboat or coast guard to save them.
Some will find flotsam junk, and some will feel like it.
And they will juggle with that question "To be or not to be?"
And when they finally make their choice
End their life not with a whimper but a bang.  
Or they may tread on through that dark ocean
Praying on the promise of greener meadows.
But this poem is not to bemoan our trivial realities,
But to explain that we are all the furthest thing from being
Insignificant.
This is to the guys who got second place, who never made it past junior varsity
The vice presidents and the prom queen nominees
This is for the lost and the lonely, for the loners and
for those just trying to find their place. 
This is for the college dropouts and the people who just need a day off.
This is for everyone who feels like the meaning of life 
is for nothing but to work, eat, sleep, and die.
This is for you. This is for you to know that you mean something
And just as a butterfly may flap its wings in New Zealand,
Which ever so slightly changes the air pressure
Causing it to rain in your home town
Where you look down the street and smile at the girl
Who is soaking wet and give her your umbrella
to meet the love of your life,
You'll start to notice how important you really are.
So when you start to feel the heavy weight
of reality bearing down on you, 
dragging you further than even the blackest pits of Tartarus
Remember that every choice you make
Makes a difference. That you are significant.

Furthest Thing From "Okay"

     There was once a tortoise and a deer. Each enjoyed the wonderful wilderness, with it's infinite beauties and surprises. For this somewhat odd pair, adventures existed outside in the mercurial wildlands. Every day, the two would venture out to new territory and find wonderful new things. Despite this, the deer was insignificant. Not in a way that it had no meaning to the tortoise, but in the way that it was a small part of an infinite universe. On the other hand, the tortoise was insignificant in the way that it had no meaning to the deer. Slowly they traveled apart. One day, they each watched a shooting star falling from they sky. They were both on completely opposite sides of the forest, but they watched the same thing.

And in an insignificant flash of light, they both disappeared.