Extraterrestrials Anyone? Part I

                        My Idea What Advanced Alien Life Might Look Like

I have written on this very blog several times about the possibility of extraterrestrial, intelligent organisms existing in the universe. In addition, I've devoted screeds of script concerning the possibility that these beings are not only aware of our existence, but they have had the temerity to visit without an invitation. So, this blog and a follow-up piece will bring my thoughts together, with argument, concerning my latest conclusions on the topic. I have not always thought this way. Hopefully, my musings will coalesce into a coherent, convincing gel of conceptual plausibility. I intend to introduce new ideas and material for consideration and possible discussion. Because of the complexity and the amount of 'ground' to cover, I am forced to split my writings on the subject into two separate blogs.

I'd like to share my thoughts on a subject that's been very much in the news lately. With the release of the sixth set of files by the Pentagon, specifically videos of UAPs, there has been renewed interest and discussion regarding their origin. Of course, there has been widespread discussion about whether  UAPs provide evidence for the claim we are witnessing craft crewed by technologically advanced extraterrestrial beings. This is not new. Supposed UAP sightings, at least in the modern era, go back to 1945. Maddeningly, we still have no definitive data to date that support the extraterrestrial hypothesis. There are those who claim that the US have recovered alien creatures, both dead and alive, from crashed space vehicles. Talk is cheap and proves nothing. We need to see the evidence. Kate Kerr says she regularly cavorts in heaven and is on speaking terms with both Jesus and God. As for proof, she provides none. I do not believe a word of it. I wrote a post about this delightful individual; you can find if you can seek. Interestingly, she makes a very comfortable living from her books and speaking engagements. Only in America could she get away with this drivel. It certainly wouldn't fly in my adopted country of New Zealand.

Like many folk, I have pondered the possibility of advanced alien civilisations, and for many years, like most scientists, I believed the universe must be teeming with intelligent life. However, of late I have experienced a paradigm shift in my thinking. I've listened to the physicist Dr David Kipling, who has advanced highly compelling arguments for the opposite viewpoint. His analysis and ideas present several important and difficult 'roadblocks' that must be navigated along the evolutionary path for the development and survival of complex biological beings. His analysis is very persuasive, and as a consequence, I now believe that complex life capable of high technological development is exceedingly rare. Indeed, I'm contemplating the possibility that perhaps we are the only advanced technological species in the vast universe. Of course, this is an extreme position that goes against all that we crave and appears, at least intuitively, ridiculous.

 Are we so proud, singular and consumed by hubris, to put forth the idea that we are the pinnacle of  life's technological advancement in a universe with trillions of galaxies, each populated by billions of stars? On the face of it, the universe should be teeming with civilisations, many more advanced than ours. But we see and hear nothing. The universe is eerily quiet. Are the myriad civilisations in the cosmos shy? Are they deliberately downplaying evidence of their existence/excellence? Tis a vexed conundrum. Perhaps they fear becoming known to more advanced and pugnacious entities. The late Dr Stephen Hawking thought it dangerous for us to actively signal our presence. As we speak, a fleet of intergalactic space vessels are whizzing across the great vastness of space carrying an invasion force to destroy our civilisation. I doubt it. Remember Douglas Adams' take on the scenario. In his case, an advanced extra-terrestrial hypercivilisation took umbrage at one of our broadcasts hurtling through space at the speed of light. These aliens were particularly prickly and assembled a vast invasion armada to avenge the perceived slight to their misguieded honour. After travelling vast interstellar distances, the war fleet eventually arrives at its destination. As they prepare to unleash their megahyper-destructive, extinction-inducing death rays, a mangy street hound gobbles them up; invasion curtailed. Mr Adams was making a humorous point about our perceived notions of dimensional perspective, or perhaps not.

Even if sophisticated alien species exist in the great void, how could they travel the insane distances between the stars? A cornerstone of cosmology invokes the principle that the fundamental laws of physics are a constant throughout the exceedingly vast universe. To date, all evidence aligns with this intrinsic truth. The cosmic speed limit, 186,000 miles per second, can be reached only by massless electromagnetic radiation. As Einstein elegantly proved, anything with mass cannot travel at the speed of light, as it would require infinite energy. Light takes over four years to travel from our nearest star. The distances between galaxies are in the millions or billions of light-years. How could a hypothetical advanced civilisation send a craft to Earth across the insane distances between our solar system and planets orbiting stars hundreds of light-years away? The laws of physics cannot be denied or bypassed. Much has been written about possible warp travel. In this scenario, energy bends spacetime, enabling faster-than-light travel. Though theoretically viable and beautifully enshrined in mathematics, the energy requirement is immense. A craft would need to consume the total energy of galaxies to remain spatially inert while contorting spacetime enough to cover distances consistent with faster-than-light travel. All this without bending our conceptual reality. I will boldly state that if advanced alien civilisations exist, it would be practically impossible to travel to our humble planet, given the vast distances between worlds. The devil's in the advocate: we could argue that we lack the intellectual capacity to comprehend alternative, sophisticated modes of interstellar propulsion. Mayhap our meagre cerebral capacity cannot grasp alternative modes of faster than light travel. Tis the classic argument from 'personal incredulity'. To this I counter: whilst it is true we don't fully appreciate all that concerns Reality, we have enough knowledge to understand universal principles, constants and constraints. From our insignificant and unprivileged position in the universe, it appears the laws of physics that govern our tiny piece of cosmological real estate are transferable to the rest of the universe. Our observations of the cosmos have found no exceptions.This set of prevalent Laws has been enshrined in the universal concept of the Cosmic Principle.    

My overarching point? Even if extraterrestrials exist and are aware of our existence, the distances between us are too great to allow realistic/relativistic communication, let alone visitation. I'll stop there, and continue my nay saying in the second installment. In the next edition, I'm going to double down and profer my additional arguments on why we may well be alone in a cold, insentient, indifferent universe. 

   

Ulzana's Raid

Several years ago, I made my first attempt at commentary on cinema. This is not my usual content material. I rarely step into the tepid, often muddy waters of film criticism. Tis a topic too subjective and woolly for either side of my brain to contemplate rationally. Either my essays, if you want to call them that, are too cerebral or insane, and on occasion, when the Muse doth tender its gentle caress, a characteristic and confusing mix of the two may ensue. As I recall, my post concerned a delightful black-and-white British horror film from the 1950s, called 'The Night of the Demon'. This was not a pretentious foray into Film Noir, but my considered opinion on a film I first watched and was genuinely terrified by when I was seven. Since then I have watched the film periodically over the years, mostly when I'm in my cups. I do remember saying at the end of the blog piece that I would continue selecting films for review and thus initiate another of my now-famous 'Trilogy Series' in four parts. Alas, this has not transpired. My restless mind will not be constrained within predictable genres, and thus my penetrating and oft chaotic intellect has drifted elsewhere. But gentle readers, be cognisant. I am now returning to my vague, but evidently not facile promise, and therefore, within this very blog, I am proffering my heartfelt opinion on a film of quality that has had a deep and lasting impression on my very soul.

Most films today are mass-produced, poorly scripted, poorly acted and churned out to please no one but a minority of 'right on' politically tuned-in, left-wing wankers. Quality is rare. Sadly, this is the modern age we live in. Thus, the films I watch are not current and belong to a bygone age, when scripts had not become hackneyed, and plot development had not yet pandered to a ridiculous 'Woke Agenda', where the star roles are populated by strong black individuals of indeterminate gender pushing a narrative of contrived, indeterminate agenda. Today's films are, in general, dismal fare offered for our dubious viewing pleasure. Enough ranting, Flaxen. 

Get on with it, Flaxen

Today's offering/proffering is a film put forth by Director Robert Aldrich that burst upon the Cinematic Screen in the early seventies. I am talking about: Ulzana's Raid, filmed in 1972. The film is set in the Old West, within the arid, unforgiving desert of Arizona. A time when frontier living was raw, and settlers faced the fading chances of being killed by raiding Apache Indians. Apparently, by this time, the Apache tribes had been corralled, but not tamed, on so-called Indian Reservations. It seems the barbarous savages (is there any other kind?) had not quite acquiesced, or had been convinced by the manifest benefits bestowed by civilised Western Culture. And therefore, they began yearning for times unfettered and unfortunately hankered for their quaint old ways of embarking on a murdering, raping and general mayhem fest. Therefore, the pesky Apache braves, under the leadership of the canny Ulzana, decide to sneak out of the reservation to deliver: (a) free toys to the local orphans, or (b) embark on a murdering, raping, wild escapade. I'll leave my readers to decide.

This is where our two main antagonists collide. 

Entering stage left, we have the grizzled, seasoned and frontier-wise Army-Attached Advisor, McIntosh, played by the great, late actor Burt Lancaster. Burt is one of the last iconic actors of the 'Golden Era'. He grew in stature as an actor with age. He went from a stereotypical leading man to a true acting legend as he aged. In this film, we see Mr Lancaster at his best. His lines are clipped, measured, and his delivery is impeccable. This role redeems his dismal portrayal in the dreadful film. Zulu Dawn. His faux Irish accent grates and is jarring to behold, and haunts my memory to this day; mayhap he needed the gelt. Great acting can only flourish with a great script. And whilst Ulanzas Raid has its share of technical slipshod, the dialogue is flawless, smart, and delivers pathos when the scene demands, without inserting maudlin sentimentality.

Enter stage right. We have the perfect foil to Burt's 'Tough Frontiersman Characterisation'. The actor, Bruce Davison, as Lt DeBuin, ably portrays the antithesis of Burt Lancaster's character. He is young, educated, sensitive but naive. This newly appointed officer, fresh from West Point, has an inquisitive intelligence and is eager, but ill-provisioned for the rigours and hardships to come. His strength is that he will evolve with time, and transfigure from the eager boy to a wiser, partly seasoned but saddened man. The horror of the coming human conflict betrays the futility of his West Point training when applied to the irregular warfare practised by his Apache foe. He has been instructed in the principles and practice of the 'Western Way of War'. No serried, disciplined ranks reminiscent of European warfare will transpire. His mindset was not equipped to comprehend the jarring reality of guerrilla warfare. A war without rules, without battle lines and without prisoners. At one point, our clean-cut lieutenant asks Burt, "Where do you think he will fight us?" We receive Burt's laconic response. "He doesn't intend to fight you anywhere, lieutenant; he means to kill ya". This lesson has not yet sunk in. But given time, and the harsh brutality to come, Lieutenant DeBuin will prove to be a quick and adaptable soldier.    

McIntosh has a genuine, grudging respect for the Apache and their ways, even though he doesn't fully understand them. He views the Apache as a 'force of nature', and like the 'waterless desert ', there is no point in hating either. The common soldier lacks McIntosh's nuanced appreciation. They hate and fear the Apache with incandescent passion. It is interesting to compare how Injuns are portrayed in older films with how they are portrayed in films after Ulzana's Raid. Previously, the pesky Injuns were NPC, banshee bowling pins to be shot down by brave, square-jawed cowboys. Post-Ulzana's Raid, we see the wise, land-connected noble Indian, hard-trodden by the land-stealing white man. A good example of this fiction appears just four years after Ulzana's Raid, in the film The Outlaw Josey Wales. The portrayal of Ulzana and his merry band is perhaps too close to the truth for many folks to endure. The Apache are certainly connected to the land. However, they are also gleefully cruel. They are tough, brave when they need to be, and prepared to grapple with an enemy head-on, but only after every other ruse and tactic has failed. 

The eager lieutenant is initially shocked by the Apache's cruelty and asks the Apache scout, Ken-Ni-Tay, why they are like that. Ke-Ni-Tay replies enigmatically. "It is the way they are". And then hints that it is the harshness of the land that maketh the man. The Apache in the film are depicted as casually brutal and sadistic without forcing an explanation. Historically, it does appear that the Apache had a long tradition of being 'unpleasant' to unwanted guests, and in fact to any other tribe, Apache or otherwise, that entered their orbit. There is no need to whitewash the redskin.

In one scene we are introduced to a situation which unsettles the lieutenant and brings an uncomfortable spotlight on his ingrained notions of the superior morality of the white civilised 'European' that separates them from savages and 'lesser breeds'. In the scene, the so-called civilised soldiers set about mutilating one of the Indian dead, taking great delight in removing his eyes. In a moment, the soldiers are no less savage than the savages. DuBuin is forced to witness his men's actions in extremis. Brutality breeds brutality, and textbook considerations of morality are theoretical constructs that do not reflect reality in times of extreme societal friction and stress. This is especially true when disparate groups come into conflict, and mutual bewilderment and social misperception run rampant. First comes the fear; then comes the hate; finally, comes the killing. I'm not a fan of those Ivory Tower professors who theorise about universal or objective laws of morality. Humanity and social behaviour are way too complex to be contained/constrained within a textbook.

Humanity is always present in this film, and not always in its raw form. Look out for the flecks of humour; it relieves the tension.

As a point of criticism, I do think Aldrich missed a wondrous opportunity to develop the  Apache protagonists in vivid relief. In particular, the portrayal of Ulzana was unnecessarily one-dimensional. We see a man uniformly posed in grim tones. His granite visage and expression remain constant, an impassive reflection of pride tinged with a withering side glance of universal hate. Only one instant gathers a change in the stolid features. This singular rent in the mask brings about a noticeable softening of the countenance. It occurs in a scene that hints that Ulzanas' son has been propelled unto the 'Happy Hunting Grounds' before his allotted time. Also, the Indian scout, Ke-Ni-Tay, is left hanging, without reference or backstory. This is unfortunate, as the troopers ultimately prevail over the Apache only because Ke-Ni-Tay, an Apache, single-handedly uncovers a trap set by the wily Ulzana. What a missed opportunity for character development! I hope the Apache scout got a medal for his sterling work.      

This is not a feel-good film. There is no hero, or heroism, for us to cheer from the sidelines. If you are expecting a neat ending where the plot comes to a tidy conclusion, this may not be the film you seek. No moral message or obvious political agenda is thrust upon us. The film remains morally ambiguous. Some critics have argued that Aldrich was making comparative points between the ongoing, unpopular Vietnam War and the film. To be honest, I don't read the film that way, apart from the bleeding obvious, although I'm happy to concede if someone can illustrate a deeper connection with conviction. 

Not all films need an agenda or a narrative forced toward a contrived viewpoint. Ulzana's Raid is a tale, a very old tale. A tale, unscripted and reflected over thousands of years, detailing what usually happens when cultures clash. We have archaeological evidence from prehistory. Our ancestors were just as brutal and rapacious as modern humans. 

If the history of the last 100 years plus has shown, we can slip into feral, cold killing machines with chilling ease. When disparate cultures clash, only one can win. Usually, the victor is the one with the 'Bigger Battalions', superior technology, and a more sophisticated financial and logistical system. History is written by the winner. Rarely do we receive a balanced account of martial conflict. Vae Victis! I wonder what treasures would be discovered if the writings of Hannibal Barca and his Greek secretary, Sosius, had survived. What marvels would be put before us to contemplate? Alas, this is the counsel of perfection, and we must be satisfied with the writings of those who hated him. 

I commend this film for your viewing pleasure. Watch it again and again. It is well worth the effort. Tis like achieving the ecstatic state of nirvana. Only those willing to put forth the effort will achieve ultimate enlightenment, and shit. 

Mad, Bad or God

The Story Unfolds

The reader is directed to suspend disbelief. Everything related in the following tale is totally valid, true and not the demented conquering's of a man with a tenuous grip on reality who is also imbued with the disconcerting proclivity of bollocking down two bottles of Creme de Menthe in a single sitting.

Consider, the cruel Winter of 984 AD. Our Hero is out for an invigorating stride across the snow besmirched land of the Mercian hinterland. Our story begins...

Whilst out strolling with his wolf, Loki, Flaxen, king of the Tipton Saxons became entangled in a space/time vortex which perchance connected to rent in the space-time continuum. Hence, Flaxen and Loki were transported through a time portal to finally alight in the Tipton of 2026. After catching the number 27 bus from Dudley.......Before you berate me for concocting impossible scenarios, I suggest you consult the latest in theoretical physics which, no doubt, will bestrew my tale with a sprinkling of verity itself.

For some strange reason which will never become apparent or satisfactorily explained, Flaxen and Loki managed to find agreeable lodgings with a flagrant/fragrant homosexual called Roger. After a lamentable event in the local post office where several aged folk were propelled to Valhalla before their allotted time (only just), Flaxen managed to secure gainful employment as a local estate agent. I will relate how this came to pass, and the successful interview process as it actually transpired, in the next gripping, paragraph. Oh yes, and for reasons that shall remain veiled in mystery and wrapped in a puzzle, Flaxen's trusty wolf became transmuted into a white fluffy Maltese Terrier, called Bubbles.

After the unfortunate episode of miscommunication in the post office, our intrepid time traveler found himself ensconced in a local corner shop. It is here that Flaxen embarked on the potential purchase of a quart of ale and a packet of pork scratchings. Unfortunately, the Blackamoor who owned the establishment baulked at accepting Flaxen's proffered silver groats. Twas a grave mistake as tenth century West Saxon groats in mint condition where worth considerably more than the comestibles Flaxen elected to purchase. Unfortunately for the shopkeep, Flaxen was not a man accustomed to being thwarted in his daily proceedings (he was an only child). Thusly, Flaxen, with a swift repost, unsheathed his sword, 'Arse, big fat arse biter' and with a deft flick of burnished steel the ill-favoured store keep's noggin was rent asunder and sent a scurrying to finally come to rest atop a packet of cheese and onion crisps.   

It became apparent to Flaxen, that in order to flourish in this future environment he needed to gain fruitful employment, and thus he applied for the position of Estate Agent as proffered in the local Job Mart. Surely, there must have been a dearth of suitable applicants as our hero managed to secure an interview the very next day.

The Interview

"So, Mr Flaxen, from your CV it appears that you have extensive experience in reaving and blood feuding with wandering warbands of interloping Frisians and Jutes. Also, you have an eclectic and extensive pinna collection, taken from fallen foes slain in battle. You have interpersonal skills and can work alone or in a warband. In addition, you have shown initiative in usurping the previous incumbent king of the West Saxons after he committed suicide by repeatably stabbing himself with a sword before falling down a disused mine shaft. After due consideration, and after noting that all other prospective candidates have mysteriously succumbed to a sanguinous demise in the interview waiting room, it is with great trepidation that I welcome you aboard as our new member of the Sales Consulting Team.  Mr Flaxen, your first viewing is on the morrow".   

You may think it strange and incongruent that a tenth century barbarian could converse with the denizens of a thousand years hence, but reality is not as it seems, especially at the quantum level. Anyway, if we are living in an infinite universe, as many very clever physicists believe, then everything is possible. Therefore, from logical inference it follows, and by force of argument aver, then every possibility denied to the imagination of Man, is also possible. I will not delve deep into the realm where classical philosophy and nonclassical physics coalesce. Suffice to say we would be entering an epistemological wonderland that transcends the intellects of mere mortals. Back to the saga. 

The Viewing

"As you can see this is a well-appointed 3 bed residence with grand views toward Tipton's only midden pit. The bathroom is bijou and superbly appointed...''

Mr Mugumbo (who else?): "Excuse me king Flaxen of the Tipton Saxons with hegemony over the wester marches and parts of Dudley south, but what are the schools like hereabouts? I wouldn't want little Joachim to go to a school full of brain fucked, thieving gypos''."You have raised a fair point Mr Mugumbo. Let me assure you that the 'Gypo Quotient' is within the 10th decile as we speak and the only dark folk allowed on school grounds is the janitor and only after full egress of the student body. As I was saying, as you can see, we have a sharply appointed kitchen type area with all the amenities of running cold water; some of it from the tap. The 'rambunctious room' would be ideal for a snooker table or an area for storing the skulls of your fallen enemy". "What is that strange crunching noise emanating from the compact but deceptively spacious bed roomette". "Don't mind that, tis only my trusty wolf cum Maltese, Loki/Bubbles feasting on the entrails of the previous viewer who had the temerity to criticise the flock wallpaper in the amply spaced dinerette designed to maximise your lifestyle requirements. Foolish accountant dared trifle with King of the Tipton Saxons and thus with a swift blow of my sword, 'Arse, Big Fat Arse, Biter', I removed his impudent bonce with celerity timely born.  Well, Mr Mugumbo, what do you think of the wallpaper in the tastefully appointed living area''?

"Well to be honest, I prefer a more understated effect with subtle, vibrant tones......".

As if in dream Flaxen reached for his double headed Danish war axe, 'Twat Cruncher', and in a heartbeat severed Mr Mugumbo's head clean orf his less than bespoke torso. 

Flaxen picked up the severed head and entered the easy to maintain bed roomette and skillfully placed the head atop the mound of noggins. Loki/Bubbles playfully relinquished the accountant's entrails and gleefully latched onto Mr Mugumbo's blood rimed corpse with his pitiless maw and thus provisioned began to drag it slowly into the sumptuously attired, feature garagette.

     

Next week Flaxen receives 'Estate Agent of the Month Award'.

Ozempic Games

No Comment

Most folk are familiar with the 'Ozempic Fad' that has swept the Western World. Originally, the drug was developed to treat type 2 diabetes. Diabetes Mellitus can be split into two distinct conditions. Type 1 diabetes is usually detected in childhood, and it is mostly caused by an autoimmune condition that attacks pancreatic tissue. Insulin is manufactured in the pancreas, specifically in cells called the Islets of Langerhans. Once these cells are lost, the individual can no longer regulate carbohydrate metabolism, and the patient requires a controlled insulin-injection regimen to regulate blood glucose levels. Type 2 diabetes usually occurs in adulthood and has a strong correlation with obesity. Generally, the condition is less severe than type 1, as patients still produce insulin but not enough to fully regulate carbohydrate metabolism. This form of the condition can usually be controlled with diet alone or with non-insulin medication. 

Ozempic was first introduced in 2017. Unlike previous diabetic medications, Ozempic affects the 'Satiation Complex': it stops people from overeating by triggering a feeling of fullness early in the eating process. Thus, the drug is designed to help people eat less, which in turn helps maintain healthy blood sugar levels. As a result, it can lead to weight loss, and since 2021, doctors have begun prescribing the drug for weight loss in none diabetic individuals. The drug has other therapeutic actions, which I will briefly consider below. 

Science Stuff

This is my chance to awaken the latent biochemist training I endured many years ago. The ghosts of pathways past come before my vision: glycolysis, Krebs cycle, beta-oxidation, and others parade in an endless array, crowding my senses with monotonous languor.

Anyway, Ozempic is classed as a glucagon-like peptide-1 (GLP-1) receptor agonist. For clarity, an agonist is a chemical that interacts with a receptor to elicit a biological response. The drug has several effects on the body. It acts on the hypothalamus in the brain and signals early satiety, preventing overeating and snacking between meals. In addition, it stimulates insulin production in the pancreas, helping convert glucose to energy and reducing blood sugar levels. It slows the passage of food from the stomach to the small intestine. Again, this delays the pangs of hunger by extending the satiety reflex. Finally, Ozempic suppresses glucagon, a hormone responsible for releasing glucose, and therefore helps regulate overall blood sugar. On the face of it, Ozempic appears to be an ideal drug for treating diabetes, as it acts on multiple systems, working in concert to maintain blood glucose levels within clinically prescribed limits. Enough biochemistry.    

Like all medications, there are side effects. As expected, the most common involve the stomach and alimentary tract. Not all are affected, and in most cases symptoms are modest and usually decrease over time. The most commonly associated symptoms include nausea, constipation and diarrhoea. I suspect the last two symptoms are mutually exclusive in any given individual.      

It didn't take long for rich celebrities to catch on to Ozempic's involvement in weight loss. Because the celebrity 'lifestyle' is associated with being thin, it seemed like an effortless way to lose weight. The drug was particularly appealing to those fat, rich bastards who lacked the discipline and willpower to rein in their gluttony. Or perhaps they were too intellectually disadvantaged to appreciate the metabolic reality: if calorific input exceeds calorific expenditure, then the excess is converted to adipose tissue. It is true that, due to a myriad of factors, folk differ in their metabolic 'burn rate', and some appear gifted in this regard. We can all recall a friend or acquaintance who is imbued with the mystical property of gluttony without associated fat deposition. My wife is of this ilk. She can scarf down calories akimbo without consequences. She has always been so disposed and struggles to maintain a healthy weight as she ages, due to constraints of appetite- is this a gift or a curse? My story is a tad different. I, due to my intellectual and mental disposition, have the blight of obsessive behaviour(s). Under this umbrella hide several behavioural compulsions that guide my daily routine; they are legion. I have a horror of weight gain that is clearly, to the 'sane' individual, abnormal.  

As we age, weight gain is a reality for most folks. We also experience a necessary decline in physical activity as age-related conditions take their toll. By three score and ten, there are few of us left who haven't felt the lash of medical maladies that limit activity. Whether your aged health status and fate are due to 'luck', genetics, or overindulgence, your final health 'barometer' is a remorseless, and often sad, reality.  

It has become clear that taking Ozempic as a weight loss aid rather than for therapeutic reasons is not without consequences over and above the known side effects. And there is little doubt that folk can lose a considerable amount of weight whilst taking the drug. However, the weight loss is not exclusively due to fat loss, as 40% of the weight involves protein, or specifically muscle. This explains the development of the 'Ozempic Face'. Together with rapid fat loss from the face, there is also muscle reduction. The result is a hollow, gaunt look, and the overall effect is a loss of a healthy and youthful visage. It has become noticeable that certain celebs who have been partaking of the drug for its rapid slimming action have developed unhealthy-looking 'aspects' that have become indelibly inscribed upon their faces. The drug's effect on dietary intake requires a lifelong application. Once the drug is stopped, and unless other measures are taken to either restrict calorie intake or undertake an appropriate exercise regimen, the weight is likely to return. Furthermore, as we age, our ability to replace lost muscle decreases, and older participants will find that the gaunt look remains even as they become fat.        

Tis a sad reflection of modern society that a sure way to become thin, without willpower or work, is by taking a pill. It is also true that if you want to become exceedingly wealthy, just design a drug that guarantees weight loss. Celebrities are under immense pressure to maintain their physical attractiveness, and part of that journey is staying thin. And let's be clear, this is not the same as maintaining a healthy weight for a designated age. Couple this with the self-selecting trait of narcissism, and we are no longer lingering in the territory of maintaing a healthy weight but in the wasteland of an eating disorder.              

Slop Plop

Facebook has become a joke shared between millennials and other generations, signified by a letter. Sadly, Facebook has degenerated into the almost exclusive preserve of Boomers. Aged folk who are inclined to share way too much personal information, photos of grandchildren, and implausible stories that beg to be shared.   

Facebook is not cool, and the cool kids only visit to laugh at the gullibility of a generation progressively marginalised and hated. I confess: I have a Facebook account. I rarely visit; however, I have found it useful, as a tool, to connect with long-lost friends and erstwhile colleagues slowly going grey between infrequent visits.

AI is changing the world, so we are told. Is this really the case? Is the concept overhyped? Will it become a self-fulfilling prophecy? Time will reveal. But this post is not about how AI will or will not change the world. To be honest, I think the World has more pressing issues that require our consideration and clear-headed action. Enough for now. With all that said, there is no doubt that AI has had an impact on the social platform, Facebook. Its presence has become insidious, repellent, and, in many instances, downright ridiculous. AI 'creators' can knock out this slop easily and quickly with readily available AI tools. Here is an example I spotted on Facebook yesterday. Enjoy.

Some people notice my scars before they notice my smile.

If you can spare just one moment, a simple "Happy Birthday" would fill my heart with joy today. Thank you for reminding me that kindness always sees beyond appearances.

This post had garnered 225 comments at the time of viewing. Without fail, all comments expressed the smulchy sentimental mush, as requested. No one had exercised their critical faculty; instead, they had taken the picture and sentiment as verity itself. As I scrolled down the comments, it was clear from the Thumbnail, that the commentators were exclusively from a certain Age Demographic. Sadly, that demographic is one to whom I belong. I felt compelled to place my own comment. I had decided to rage against the machine, but to what avail? Was I becoming part of the machine I so despised? Tis cheap, these days, to buy comments to posts that support the agenda that suits. Am I simply feeding the algorithm that the creator craves? Tis a muddled game these days, and I'm not sure I want to play any more.  

My Comment

FS:·

Folks, this is AI-generated slop. It's not real. We Boomers have got to do better! It actually states that it is AI-generated. You can tell because AI always has trouble getting the fingers right- go ahead and count them.

This crap is not going away soon. With AI generative tools, this slop can be knocked out quickly. Savvy creators can generate large numbers of similar images and post on Facebook and also TikTok. Money can be made off engagement. These platforms have created incentivised programs for content, regardless of quality, that goes viral. Where there is money to be made from easy-to-produce slop, unscrupulous creators will follow in their droves.   

The AI rabbit hole goes deep, and requires multiple posts to clarify, inform and hopefully educate. It is not all about money. It can be used to pass on misinformation from those with malicious intent, or put forth a message from a political group. Trump recently created an image that caused mass consternation and contempt. It disappeared within hours. But not fast enough. Remember what gets put on the net lasts forever.

Here it is in all its glory. The ego of the man is without bounds and inversely related to his IQ. 

 

I wonder what he is trying to say here? Surely, we are witnessing a subtle portrayal of concepts, intricately woven. What can it mean? The message is hard to fathom- so much is going on. Though I think it could be improved with the image of a ferret. But I would say that, wouldn't I? 

Prequel to what is to come

It will not have gone unnoticed by the small cadre of folk who still bother to follow this eclectic and eccentric blog that my productivity has waned of late (? fate). In mitigation, I have been distracted and, frankly, overwhelmed by a host, nay horde, of personal issues that are none of your concern. Consequently, I have not been able to put forth the mental effort required to craft my essays. With all that said, I have managed to put together several fragments, rough and unfinished as they are. Hopefully, within the next few months I will be able to find time to complete and publish these fledgling posts for the delectation of the folk who have the wit and patience to see beyond the written word.    

Due to considerations beyond the ken of man, I have declared a hiatus from the follow-up post regarding the generalship of Pyrrhus. Do not despair, gentle reader. I have started the post; however, it requires extensive editing. Pyrrhus' tactical application and deployment of the diverse troops under his command deserve commendation. In this regard, Pyrrhus is a worthy successor of the Alexander tradition. Sadly, Pyrrhus lacked Alexander's famed luck and strategic genius. All this will be discussed in the post to come. 

Today's topic concerns my accumulated thought process, obtained over many years of concerted contemplation diligently acquired. I will begin by offering the usual caveat: I am in no way a biblical or ancient historical scholar; my expertise lies elsewhere. I'm an enthusiastic amateur devotee. Take this post as you will. Also, I invite serious and considered comments from my readership. In particular, I am interested in thoughts and contributions from Christians. Although I consider myself a critical atheist, I am not of the rabid persuasion. I do not proselytise nor am I interested in converting Christians to my brand of disbelief. What a person believes is of no interest to me, and I respect an individual's right to believe in whatever religious doctrine they choose. I never raise the topic amongst peers or casual acquaintances. But God help the hapless street preacher who accosts the flaxen-haired one as he perambulates the fair streets of NZ, minding his business. They, once of their own volition engage, are fodder for my brand of penetrating debate; no quarter will be given or asked for.   

Initially, this post was a one-off, self-contained entity. However, it grew with the telling, and I quickly realised that my screed would exceed the accepted word limit for the blog format. Consequently, I have split the topic into two manageable posts.             

Over the years, I've been quizzed by several individuals concerning my preoccupation with Jesus, especially as I'm an atheist. Personally, I see no conflict. My fascination is born out of the reality that Jesus of Nazareth has exercised a powerful influence on Western historical and cultural development like no other. For good or ill, Jesus' impact has been profound across many areas of societal progress and regression. To be fair to the man, none of this is Jesus' fault. I suspect that if we could resurrect the man and bring him into the modern age, he would be completely confused and confounded by Catholicism and how the Christian religion, in its myriads of guises, has evolved and coalesced over the intervening centuries.

His message of universal compassion and adherence to Jewish Law has been transfigured and subsumed into the travesty we observe today. Be that as it may, Greek philosophical add-ons, realpolitik, and a lust for political power and gelt were the inevitable result. I suspect that the reanimated Jesus would be none too pleased. Jesus' insistence on plain living and the eschewing of unnecessary adornment was the first of his teachings to be discarded once the church gained ascendancy and power. The Vatican and the bejewelled wretch called the Pope represent the palpable manifestation of Catholicism's raw, unmitigated avarice, deep-rooted in corporeal worldliness. Tis an interesting observation that once Christianity became accepted as the mainstream religion in the Roman Empire, it quickly adapted and exercised its newfound muscle with glee. Pagan religions were suppressed, and temples dedicated to the elder pantheons were appropriated, cleansed and dedicated to the one true God. Once established and thoroughly intertwined within Roman society, ambitious and wealthy men took charge to further their own agenda- it has always been this way with religious institutions. Regardless, there were always going to be fanatics and pious fools that actually believed the nonsense. Those who seized the moment and took hold, exploiting the masses' devotion, could utilise these crazed devotees to promote the cause as long as they obeyed the ruling tenets and decrees. If they became too troublesome in their realised and heartfelt devotion to the extent of causing unrest in the simple believer, trumped-up charges of heresy were easily meted out. The unrepentant and foolish zealot could be judicially whisked from this life to the netherworld that they ultimately craved. Spirituality is just a word preached to the uncomprehending masses by those who understand the power of a Word.

From its inception, Christianity instantly appealed to the poor. In this regard, the new religion was unique, especially compared with polytheistic pagan religions of the Mediterranean region. Their gods were a reflection of the ruling elite with all their merciless immorality and excess, but writ large(r). Whenever did the patrician, of any society, or age have truck or genuine compassion and concern for the poor lumpen mass? 

Once the religion became popular with the people and widely adhered to by many, it became expedient for the ruling elite to exploit this useful 'tool' for the furtherance of power and societal control. Even though life was hard, unfair and brutal, the mantra was simple. Obey and keep the faith, and you will receive a thousandfold in eternal bliss. Those that did not keep the faith, and/or did not pay fealty to those who oppressed and controlled their fate, faced eternal pain. Those who did not tithe and pay the guilt debt were presented with incorporeal fates of eternal fire. Those prone to disrupt or challenge the established social cohesion that underpinned the power of the 'righteous' few were doomed throughout eternity. Christianity was the perfect apparatus for restraint, as 'The People' willing applied the invisible fetters with abandon and relish. Never mind that Jesus never taught this simple duality of infinite pleasure versus pain. Power lay with interpretation and only the few that controlled the many could read the Greek/Latin scripture, and interpretation remained the key. Poor William Tyndale translated the Greek bible to English. Vernacular access passed the key from the few to the many. English merchants, waxed fat by trade, could pay to school their children to read in their own language. The chest of interpretation was now laid bare. Church leaders recognised that the 'spell had been broken' and horrified by the stark significance of the New Testament's reveal, burned the hapless Tyndale at the stake for his revelation; it did no good. The age of personal scriptural interpretation was upon us, and Christianity's secular power was on its inevitable and long decline.  

The second post in this series will describe my quest to unravel the life and teachings of this remarkable man called Jesus. The theological accretions of theology/philosophy are of no interest to me, at least in this series of posts. Maybe, if it rains on some future Sunday morn, I will put forth the effort to examine the Man/God of theological development. The next post will seek to illustrate an historical portrait of this remarkable and very human man, called Jesus. It will be more focused and less prone to my tendency to present my thesis in florid form. I want to strip Jesus of the accrued theological patina of the centuries. I want to see what modern historical scholarship can say, with varying degrees of certainty, about this first-century Jewish prophet. Don't be angry, be amazed!    

Pyrrhus' Generalship Part 1

How can a mere mortal give justice to an analysis of Pyrrhus' war-torn and truncated life? In my wisdom, I decided to confine my research to the accounts portrayed by ancient writers, particularly Plutarch, who wrote about Pyrrhus in his book 'The Age of Alexander'. This book I own and can readily access from the bookshelf in my study. Of course, there are modern books about Pyrrhus that could be included in my background reading. In fact, there are important historical source works on the man, and this does not include modern monographs or literary papers published in respectable history journals. As I'm not immortal, nor a historian, I have decided to eschew modern source works. Also, if truth be told, I have other important stuff in my life that requires my attention. In addition, at heart, I'm a fundamentally lazy man, and in matters concerning the following, I will, as usual, be relying heavily on my personal Muse. During periods of frenzied/frenetic writing, regardless of topic, she pours out her musings (sorry) into my ear in a dulcet, silky tone. I can only follow and obey. I make no excuses for the reliance on voices within. My Muse has been a constant, soothing companion throughout my adult life, and I will continue to expound on her profundity, except concerning her constant, strident utterances about 'burning stuff'.    

Generalship

The more I've read (I lied about not reading widely- couldn't help it) and reflected on Pyrrhus' generalship, the more insight I've gained, and the more I've come to respect and appreciate his battlefield tactics and the brilliance of his fighting leadership. It seems a great pity that he is virtually unknown today and that his prowess is rarely compared with that of ancient Great Captains, such as Hannibal and Alexander. This oversight demands redress. Watch this space.  

According to Plutarch, Hannibal is said to have rated Pyrrhus the greatest general after, of course, Alexander the Great (b.327 BC). If this be the case, then to be rated by Hannibal above himself is a high accolade indeed. Let us see if this claim stands up to scrutiny.

There is no doubt that Pyrrhus was a brave man and exposed himself in battle to the point of being reckless. I mentioned in my previous post on the man that I considered his Heroic Style of Generalship as folly. On reflection, I have changed my mind on this matter. During battle, he always sought out the thickest of action. His armour and helmet set him apart and clearly marked his identity not only to his own troops but also to the enemy. During the first battle with the Romans at Heraclea (280 BC), a companion of Pyrrhus remarked that a Roman cavalry officer was keeping a keen eye on Pyrrhus' movements and warned him to take care. Pyrrhus is said to have remarked, ''No man can escape his fate". At that moment, the Roman charged and transfixed Pyrrhus' horse with his spear. At the same time, the Roman's horse was also laid low by a lance. Thereafter, the unhorsed Roman fought with fanatic bravery born of despair but was isolated and killed by Pyrrhus' companions. After this salutary incident, Pyrrhus is said to have taken greater care to downplay any ostentatious adornments that might have signified his identity. Any general exposing himself to great danger during battle invites death. The death of Pyrrhus on the battlefield would certainly have given heart to the enemy, and they would be quick to pass on the information to their hard-pressed men. Moral, intangible as a quality it might be, is an important part of how men fight on the battlefield. The death of Pyrrhus in battle would likely dishearten the men and spread general despondency. Conversely, the presence of Pyrrhus in the heart/heat of battle would encourage his men to fight as men possessed.  In addition, any leader of a host who decides to fight alongside his frontline troops is likely to be blind to the developing tactical situation. The captain atop high ground can review the battle as a whole and take note of inevitable changes for good or for ill. The wise commander, taking in the larger picture as it unfolds, can deploy his reserves as necessary to preserve battlefield dominance. With all that said, this is the counsel of perfection. 

Perhaps I have done Pyrrhus a disservice, and on mature reflection, I have concluded that he could not have fought any other way, given his cultural background and tactical organisational skills. I baulk at calling Pyrrhus Greek, as he was much akin culturally and by temperament to the Macedon- mayhap it is better to signify him as  'Hellenistic'. Therefore, he could have fought no other way. His soldiers expected Pyrrhus to be out front, displaying valour and exhorting his men to fight as fiercely as he did. Pyrrhus, as kin to the great Alexander and descendant of Achilles, believed he was marked for greatness. And to this end he emulated the heroic theme that Alexander mastered. Let us not forget that by nature, Pyrrhus was extraordinarily pugnacious. He sought out conflict and would often provoke a fight for its own sake. Pyrrhus had been trained in the arts of war from a young age and was extraordinarily proficient in dispatching folk to the shores of the River Styx, with alarming alacrity. This reinforces my opinion that Pyrrhus was no civilised Greek in the Classical sense. Although charming, charismatic and educated, Pyrrhus appears to have had a good degree of the 'Barbar' about him, something he was quick to note about his most formidable opponent, the Romans. Mayhap, he protests too much. I suspect Pyrrhus was more akin to the Romans than he would like to admit. I suspect the irony was lost to him. For the Athenians, the upstart Macedonians were a little too savage to be considered as 'fully Greek'. Political reality was never something the proud, haughty Greeks were willing to accept in theory; real politics had to be imposed by 'Lesser Breeds'. No doubt, Pyrrhus despised the barbarian hordes beyond the borders of Hellen, but was blind to the savage within his own soul. I think it would be best to describe Pyrrhus, although not devoid of grace and allure, as at his core, a barbarian with a lavish coat, two generations applied, of 'refined varnish' with a goodly tint of the Hellen. Throughout his life, the rendering of civilisation was apt to rub off. A most complex and fascinating 'gentleman'.

Another important point needs to be emphasised regarding his style of generalship. Macedonian armies relied heavily upon heavy infantry organised into a phalanx. The men were densely packed in formation, and their primary weapon was the sarisa, a variable-length pike, typically 13 to 23 feet. In this way, the troops could wield a formidable 'hedge' of bristling points. However, by its very nature, the phalanx was not tactically flexible once deployed, and its units were difficult to redirect once contact with the enemy was made. However. Pyrrhus was not solely reliant on the phalanx and achieved battlefield mastery and tactical flexibility by deploying a mixed array of troops, together with a command structure that devolved authority to competent subordinates who could respond to a dynamic battlefield situation.

I'll have more to say about Pyrrhus's generalship and tactical deployment in the context of a fluid, evolving battle environment in the next thrilling instalment. Due to constraints concerning the blogging format, I am compelled to split my thesis into several instalments. To be honest, I never anticipated that my critique of this man's martial ability would be so complex and deep. Never mind, this series of posts will develop as required. I have not written the follow-up posts yet. My Muse has the annoying habit of fucking off when most needed. She will return; although cruel and heartless, she inevitably comes back to tickle my senses once again. O fickle and capricious mistress, come sit on my weary shoulder and pour your profundity into my ever eager ear.