Showing posts with label andreas lubitz. Show all posts
Showing posts with label andreas lubitz. Show all posts

Thursday, April 2, 2015

Andreas Lubitz Makes Depression Look Like What It Isn't

When presented with an infrared spectrum, it is easy to become confused by the peaks present. Brian C Smith, Infrared Spectral Interpretation, A Systematic Approach, p.27


The Sony Bravia flat screen from Dell cost somewhere between $650 to $699 or so, still flush from parental demise, one of the last times your queen mother had a universal circus going at the expense of the center city personnel running this building, making the ex bull doze himself a drive to Radio Shack for digital antenna, cajoling Timothy to screw it altogether. "Yours is better than mine," Frank observed, cryptically. I have no real way to evaluate electronic appliances, but even after years of abandoning the old concave analog sets, I have a more stable picture, barring cellular interference, and so what?

You'd like simplicity? I hate the television. I hate watching it. And despite the miracle of the micro ink and touch interface, I hate kindle, I hate my smartphone, and the diaphanous platform chattering Ev William's Medium represents. Oh, it is pretty, marvelously pleasing to the eye, but we have destroyed something essential about pre-digital culture, all of us. We've cheapened something about learning through each other, even while I fight the welfare system closing its industrial age manacles on my intransigence. 

Speaking hypothetically, I do not think Presbyterian Homes has the wherewithal to take me to court to force my institutionalization, as it is simply a matter of my age, my lack of affluence to buy myself time, and I don't think anyone paying attention to me on social media feels they have the ability to prevent it, whether or not they care. If the situation were reversed, and it was one of you, and I was a Levy brother, for example, would I sacrifice time, money, to be your shield? It is a counterfactual speculation.

But as much as blunt force trauma is also a simplified argument, like rolls of coins in a sock to create a cat o nine, the actions of Lubitz are simply unfathomable. Depression doesn't entirely impede empathy, and I would not destroy the lives of innocents in a bid for relief from entrapment between rust iron bully dykes like Debra Horne and abusive or otherwise indifferent caretakers. As I keep hammering it home, I am, like many thousands, a quadriplegic under the medical restraint of Prometheus Unbound. Vengeance might seem applicable in  that context of a life with such a degree of cruelty, even if positivism might suggest alternatives, but not so randomly applied without any cause whatsoever.

An intuitive sensibility only, but nevertheless, I don't think Lubitz could have been possible before Microsoft made personal computing what it is, just as my further ostracism wouldn't have been possible if I would have been more objective, careful of my temper, frustrated with the bizarre remote which, as a cheap plastic implement, has a mind of its own, insisting the channel change bounce its signal sideways, and taking at least five minutes to obey the press of my fingertips. Smashing the damn thing would be an appeasement. My mind is on a controversial piece. I best get pitching.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Pop Up Recollection: Enemy Consortium

"I'm a puppet of a high functioning sociopath."-- Megan Boone

Patty Duke is given a diva scene in the tepid drama, The Baby Sitter, tapping into her varnished mania to have an episode made leaden by booze, and it is sadly camped, almost stenciled in to a talented actress'es notable itinerary. 

All aging actors seem to encompass these plot points: the breakthrough, the rise, the critical accolades in the train toward the apex, and then they attempt to cling to their glory through hackneyed scripts which then go to DVD. Shatner is no exception, and the only reason he had a resurgence on Boston Legal was because he played with audience nostalgia for his embodiment of James T Kirk, lampooning the action hero with considerable sophistication as the barging litigator. Boomer middle age anxiety was cruel, however, and heads rolled in the dust. 

Duke is a footnote, and Shatner plays the gallant, and we're indifferent. Respectful to the elder celebrity with a nod, but know in the back of our minds he is fish meal for obit gurus. Duke's exit is more consequential.

Her bipolar disorder initially cycled her creativity, and in The Patty Duke Show, between the lines of the starched script, runs an argument for accommodation of mood differentials, as opposed to their classification through the ever gargantuan medical model. Arguably, Duke herself may have put a dent in her ability to get roles through her embrace of the term as a medical definition. As a teen, she channeled that intensity to humanize Helen Keller, but failed to transition over in maturity, in contrast to Sally Field, who dramatized the condition for ER.

If we're going to deconstruct our humanity through microcelluar biology, the potential cyborgs which emerge from Google's Tonka Toy kit in AI might provide an answer as to why self aware intelligent life destroys itself before a hospitable planet cooks in a nova event horizon. By the same token, competing theories, in certain instances, do more harm than good. We're all assuming Lubitz died a mass murderer, perplexed by his actions. Unless he left a manifesto in a drawer, we'll never know, and shouldn't automatically consign his fate to the need for advanced neuroscience.