Murrrrrr...

No, I won't say it.

Actually, I think I have to. It used to be a perfectly good word, but it's been taken from me. Or rather, it's a word I don't want anymore because it's become infected. I simply can't say avatar without people thinking about the James Cameron movie. I knew this day was coming, ever since I learned that M. Night. Shyamalan's rendition of Avatar: The Last Airbender would be known simply as the "the Last Airbender".

The Last Airbender is probably my favorite animation of all time, and I've watched a lot in my time, both American and Japanese. Airbender embodies my ideal mixture, ideal style of story telling: clean but hilarious, epic but with lighter moments, goreless but with a seriousness to the violence, romantic but without any lust (a bit redundant, since I don't find lust romantic at all). The point of bringing up this masterpiece, besides telling you, my dear reader, to just go and watch it, is that I can not bring it up by the name I had known it as in casual conversation. With my brother, sure, if given the proper context I can simply say "Avatar" and mean the cartoon, but that's it. Now I always have to say "The Last Airbender", "Avatar, that cartoon", "the Nickelodeon kids' show formerly known as Avatar". Bummer. If you would believe it, this is not the first time I've had the word "avatar" taken from me.

Quite a while ago, I had this idea for a series. The basic premise is that the mythological pantheons are based on beings that existed, but the stories of them differed so much from the source as to be near unrecognizable, somewhat like the Bishop St. Nicholas and our modern Santa Claus. Given that these beings, twelve in number, were present all over the world, stories of pantheons also exist all over the world. These beings decide to disappear for a while because they didn't like being worshipped, but vowed to return when the earth was in trouble. In the near future, twelve superheroes are born as successors, possessing only a portion of the original godlike powers, since they're human. Avatars. Avatar is such a great term to use with them, even though they're not technically reincarnations (the identity crisis of these heroes is a major theme, as they don't know if they are reincarnations or just the next holders to the torch). Then I heard about the cartoon, and decided I should stay away from, at the very least, entitling my series "Avatar", though perhaps I’ll still use it to refer to the superheroes in story. Now, of course, using “Avatar” anywhere in any sort of title would probably not be in good style. Not for many years, anyway. I must wait for that parasite that has latched onto those six letters to die, when people stop thinking about smurfs at its sound and perhaps think about Indian mythology instead, Vishnu rather than Jake Sully. Time heals all wounds, perhaps it’s also the best antibody.

But isn’t time the very thing parasites steal from us? Whether it’s shortening our lives or disrupting them, we lose time over parasites. Something interrupts us, and we say, “I don’t have time for this”. We never have time for parasites, so parasites have to take it. What happens if we gave our time to parasites? They stop being parasites. We volunteer to help the homeless, they stop being leaches, they become those in need. We bat away the mosquitoes who are after our nutrients and blood, but we purposely attach a baby to our breast so he or she (not it) drains as much as he or she needs. We yell at strays, but feed the dog we’ve adopted into the family. Family is always worth our time. Sometimes. When we find that family members have become too disruptive, too much of an inconvenience, they too become parasites. “No, I don’t have change” or “No, I’m not going to come and get you from the police station.” Even if they don’t end up taking our wanted money and gas, loved ones may weigh on the mind, taking our valuable thought.

However, love might overcome the disruption, the love that propels one to swim oceans and climb mountains for a person. If someone does something for another out of love, it’s not a parasitic relationship, though it can appear that way to outsiders. I’m writing of true love. If I would be allowed to speak of theology for a moment, and I am because it’s my blog, it’s true love that decrees us as children to God rather than parasites of His creation. No matter what we do, we can not inconvenience or disrupt God. Unfortunately, I don’t think love will help me get that word back, unless I can create something even more beloved than James Cameron’s Avatar. Time will tell.

reincarn8ed

Avatar according to the Merriam-Webster online dictionary:

1 : the incarnation of a Hindu deity (as Vishnu)
2 a : an incarnation in human form b : an embodiment (as of a concept or philosophy) often in a person
3 : a variant phase or version of a continuing basic entity
4 : an electronic image that represents and is manipulated by a computer user (as in a computer game)

Etymology: Sanskrit avatāraḥ descent, from avatarati he descends, from ava- away + tarati he crosses over

"Avatar", a word which has frequented more lips than usual as of late. A word that previously referred to deities descending, crossing over into our realm is now used to name the picture that is supposed to represent us, a picture always of our choosing. Like gods reducing themselves to a human form, are we so much greater than the picture that is our face to the digital world? Perhaps more puzzling, is the internet an even less worthy world, a lesser realm than the one our physical bodies inhabit? It is certainly an interesting notion, since like our world to the gods, we are the creators of the internet. This "world" or "plane" came from us, it is our possession, and it is unfit, incapable to house the vessels that we call our real bodies. Ironically, though most would agree that if humans do possess a soul it would be housed in our bodies, many people do pour out their "soul" into the internet. How is it that the internet is not good enough for our bodies, but is allowed our souls? Numerous mythologies have dictated that the soul is far more precious. Perhaps it is because humans are too weak willed to live with their bodies as they are, something over which they have little control if they only view their bodies as a means to please and attract others. One can put on certain clothes, get a certain haircut, but noses are something else, and fat content takes effort to keep at an agreeable level. We have little control in the world our bodies inhabit as well. We create a world, choose an immaculate picture that says exactly what we want it to say, the picture we want people to see when they think of us and recall our name. But even our name has changed. There is no more confusion, because we make sure we are the only ones who possess it: affirmmeimg8, iwantura10tion, and some1loveme.

But we musn't forget the third definition: a variant phase or version of a continuing basic entity. We've reduced ourselves to nameless, bodiless, parasites.

Serres somesing strange

Reading Michel Serres has been a lot like trying to read an arrangement for an orchestra. The notes are all there, and I know what they all mean (that is, I know what a single note represents, much as I understand what a single word means), but it is near impossible trying to imagine them all coinciding at the same time being played by the respective instruments. Likewise, Serres draws up a variety of diagrams, often introducing the next one before I have fully grasped the previous, and he continually refers back to obscure references of fables I'm not familiar with. To top it off, he seems to write in a style that I would equate with a genius 10 year old who was dictating to a computer of his own invention. In other words, I feel that if I wrote like Serres, my essays would be thrown back at me.
However, Serres is well acquainted with the approved styles and organizations of writing, which makes me think, or hope, there is some method to the "madness" of his words. True, this was translated from French, and I've seen it written that his work has been regarded as untranslatable, but I don't feel that this has to do with the awkward and disjointed phrases that I'm perceiving. Many sentences do not have a subject or they do not have an independent clause. What is? His point I wonder.
It is his point that I’m after, not that of the book so much, not that of the ideas that have been printed. It is in him I’m interested in because he does not distance himself from the words. Why go after printed letters, when they just represent sound, which just represent words, which just express ideas, when I can go after the source? ‘I’ is a mainstay, ‘I’ is among the letters, standing tall and directing traffic, though if the goal were to expedite and ensure safety of understanding for the reader, it fails. ‘I’ throws a giant lasso around the pages, so large the reader doesn’t even notice it. A lasso to wrap around the words. “Mine” says the lasso. But the lasso is drawn by a pen, thrown by an ‘I’. Serres. One notices the odd language, the odd syntax. One can’t ignore it. Perhaps more effective than what the words actually mean, than by what examples he actually brings up, Serres expresses in the very way he writes how everything is a part of a parasite relationship. Though instead of a guest/host, he really plays on the reader/writer. The reader is dependant on the words of the writer to be a reader, but the words are an interruption, they don’t seem fruitful, they are essentially the visual representation of noise, of static. The writer can only be fulfilled while he has readers, so he uses his noise, he produces the letters, he captures readers in his lasso. While the reader reads, there is only one ‘I’. Serres.